


Infinite Recursion Error

by LEAUX



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Destiny 2, Drunkenness, Fluff and Angst, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mind Meld, Mind Sex, More angst, Oral Sex, Transhumanism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-01-19 22:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12419679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LEAUX/pseuds/LEAUX
Summary: [Spoilers for the Red War campaign in Destiny 2]The Tower has been restored after Ghaul's assault, and Zavala sets his sights beyond the wall at last. Cayde-6, on the other hand, has made himself scarce, tucked away in the hangar, keeping the rest of his fireteam at arm's length. Zavala begins to wonder if he's been missing something obvious about Cayde since the day they first met, and discovers he might just be the anchor necessary to keep Cayde's mind from spiraling into darkness.





	1. Prologue

Cayde set up shop in the hangar just as soon as it was rebuilt. At first, he pretended he was only there helping Amanda unload some cargo, but his true agenda had been getting some much-needed space to himself. Okay, so it was usually pretty busy in there, but he appreciated having an office with a good view and a roof overhead. An office without his commander in it.

There was plenty to keep him occupied, too. His Hunter scouts were checking in regularly again, and a bevvy of other Guardians started hounding after him for tips on where to find the best loot caches. Then there was the advent of the whole Flashpoint protocol, which was a little tricky to implement without speaking to his commander face-to-face, but Cayde was nothing if not creative when it came to avoiding his problems. None of his Guardians seemed to notice what a mess he was, and if they did, none of them bothered him about it. Bless their souls.

Whenever the breeze picked up, and kicked dust through the vast metal scaffolding of the hangar, he felt momentary pangs of wanderlust. The call of the wilds still echoed in the back of his mind, but it wasn’t enough to pull him out of the pit of anxiety that had been swallowing him since Ghaul sacked the Last City. The Vanguard job wasn’t enough to make him want to fly away on a scouting mission anymore. He was dealing with enough stress that he never had to worry about being bored, but he thought he would welcome boredom back with open arms.

Somewhere in the back of his mind was a voice telling him he couldn’t run forever. Just behind that voice, he felt there lurked a presence he couldn’t run from. Delightful. Nothing like some good old fashioned paranoia to keep you feeling young.

It took longer for Ikora to hunt him down than he thought it would. Maybe she’d been waiting, observing him to see what he'd do, and her curiosity finally got the better of her. She was a scholar, after all. When she finally came calling late one evening, Cayde realized he still wasn’t ready. He still didn’t know what to tell her.

“Cayde,” she chided, her exasperation only detectable to the well-trained ear. He tried not to flinch at her tone. There were Hunters nearby, after all, and he had a reputation to maintain.

“Ikora, long time no see,” he welcomed her over with a jovial wave, and his scouts took their cue to scurry off to their various hiding places throughout the tower. They didn’t want to be within earshot of whatever was about to go down, and Cayde was so proud they’d taken his lessons about plausible deniability to heart.

Ikora looked around a bit, seeming less than impressed with his makeshift accommodations.

“Zavala has been asking after you. He thinks you’ve been avoiding us.”

Big ball of light above, but she knew how to cut straight to the heart of an issue.

“Ikora, you know I would never avoid you,” he made a last-ditch effort to deflect, “I couldn't if I tried.”

“I don't think you've been avoiding me,” she tucked herself into a pocket of shadows inside his little bungalow, arms crossed, “but I know you've been avoiding Zavala.”

Cayde had to laugh, if only to buy himself just one more second of dignity.

“Listen, you're the sharpest Warlock around, so I don't need to tell you things got a little weird up there at our last stand by the teleporter.” 

<><><>

_ “You’re on Ghaul’s command ship. It’s as close to the Traveler as we can get you. Be brave. For all of us.” _

_ There was fire everywhere, the screams of rockets, painful jolts from electric tendons in the severed stubs of his arm and leg, but his whole attention was fixated on the small stream of blood trickling from the corner of Zavala’s lips. Cold fear consumed him, a dread he’d been keeping at bay until that very second. _

_ For a moment, his words failed him. _

_ “Hey, Big Blue, how're you holding up over there? Thought you were a goner when that Legion grunt decked you, but I see you got to keep all your limbs. Doesn’t seem fair.” _

_ Despite the nickname, Zavala graced him with a weak smile, which didn't reach the dim glow of his eyes. _

_ “Lucky me,” he wheezed, with effort, “Although, I'm not sure all of my ribs are attached anymore.” _

_ Before he realized it, Cayde was already crawling over to where Zavala was propped up against the wall. Upon closer examination, he could see that the sides of the Titan’s thick cuirass had buckled together like Spinmetal leaves. It was astounding the man could still breathe. _

_ “What in the hell did you get yourself into out there, Commander?” _

_ Zavala almost looked sheepish. _

_ “One brazen Legionary may have stepped on me.” _

_ Cayde swore. This whole ‘impending mortality’ thing was a real son of a bitch. _

_ “You say it stepped on you? Zavala, those things probably weigh three tons buck-naked, how are you even still speaking?” _

_ “Wonders never cease, my friend” he whispered, with another small smile, the blood clashing badly with his cyan skin. There was a tenderness to Zavala’s manner that had Cayde's heart in knots. He wished Zavala would scold him for talking too much, or losing his limbs, anything to make this feel normal. _

_ “Hang in there, okay buddy? Our favorite Guardian is gonna pull through for us. I know it.” _

_ “I know it, too.” The Awoken closed his eyes, the very picture of faith and confidence. “We need only be patient. Our job, for now, is finished.” _

_ “Hey, Zavala? Zavala, you listen to me.” Cayde reached out with his remaining hand to steady himself on his commander’s red paldron, “Back there, you said you’d never been prouder to be part of our fireteam. But Zavala, you  _ are  _ our fireteam,” he held his gaze, blue light for blue light, “and there is no way I'm gonna let you quit the Vanguard before I do, you hear me?” _

_ Zavala peered at him through one eye. _

_ “Who said anything about quitting?” _

_ Stubborn asshole. Couldn’t he see Cayde was trying to pour his heart out over here? _

_ “I'm just saying, I can barely do this job as it is, and there's no way I could do it without you.” _

_ Softly glowing eyes opened wider, brimming with quiet laughter. _

_ “Cayde-6, are you worrying yourself over me?” He brought one large blue hand to a gentle rest on the remnants of the Exo’s shooting arm. “I’m more worried about the state you're in, my friend.” _

_ Cayde felt he couldn't handle much more of this conversation without something inside his chest imploding. He was trying to keep a lid on his unprofessional affections, and Zavala seemed intent on making that very difficult for him. In fact, this whole ordeal with Ghaul had been a minefield of compromising moments. _

_ “Yeah, well. Lucky that Ghosts have a real knack for fixing up busted Exos. As soon as we get our Light back, I'll be good to go. We’ll be okay.” _

_ He felt a gentle squeeze through his leathers. _

_ “I'll be glad of it. I don't like seeing you this way. I never have, even with the Light.” _

_ Cayde just laughed, and leaned forward to rest his head against Zavala's paldron. He was so fucked. _

_ “Alright, I've had about enough of you being so nice to me, Zavala. Any more of this, and I'm going to have to kiss you.” _

_ Zavala returned his laughter in kind. _

_ “You'd have to somehow reach me first.” _

_ “Ahem,” Ikora cleared her throat, startling the rest of the Vanguard to attention. She, too, had crawled her way over to Zavala’s position, and was kneeling in front of them. “Sorry to interrupt your heart-to-heart, boys, but you may want to pay attention to the comms. Our Guardian is about to engage Ghaul.” _

_ “Of course,” Zavala replied, letting go of Cayde's arm like he’d been burned, “You're right, we should be listening in.” _

_ Cayde wanted to cry, and refused to lift his head from its rest against the Titan’s armor. _

_ “I guess,” he mumbled. _

_ Ikora spared him a pitying glance, and he knew this moment wouldn't be forgotten. _

_ Damn Warlocks. _

<><><>

If Ikora had noticed him spacing out, she didn’t let on. She was patient.

“Hey, I know this looks bad,” he sighed, “but don't worry. I’m a big boy, I got it all under control. I just need some time to-”

“Cayde, I'm not here to accuse you of anything,” she gave his arm a gentle pat, “I'm here to make sure you're okay.”

Well that was a twist. Were they all going soft? Well, Cayde had always been soft.

“I am. At least, I think I am. I hope I am?” He reached over to grab her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Anyway, thanks for checking up on me. Or should I say I’m sorry? I sure didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You don't have anything to apologize for. Just remember that I'm here to talk about it, if you need me.” She smiled, emerging from the shadows, “I don't want to stand by and watch this eat away at you. This should be a time of celebration. Embrace it.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” He gave her one of his most winning smiles. “You know, you're one in a million, Ikora.”

“I know, dear,” she winked at him, flashing a wicked grin as she sauntered away, “Zavala is, too.”

Once she was out of sight, Cayde threw his head back against the beam he was resting on with a loud, dramatic clank.

“Warlocks never play fair,” he groaned.

As most of the workers started punching out for the evening, and the crowd was thinning, Amanda sidled over with a sympathetic shake of her head.

“So,” she leaned against his shoulder, “how much does she know?”

Cayde sighed.

“Who, Ikora? Oh everything, naturally.”

“She figured out that you're sweet on Big Blue?”

If an Exo’s eyes could kill, Amanda Holliday would have been the first to know.

“Could you say that a little louder, please? I don’t think the Traveler heard you.”

She just giggled at him. The audacity.

“Relax, partner, no one’s listening to us chit chat over here. We’ve got plenty of room to gossip about your love life.” She nudged him with her elbow. “You thought of any good pickup lines yet?”

“Listen, would you stop talking about it like I’ve got some silly teenage crush? It’s not some dumb, raw magnetism thing we’ve got going on,” he folded his arms, “It’s a lot more subtle than that, okay?”

“Alright, no need to get defensive, I understand.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Do you still wanna bang him, though?”

“Like a door in a hurricane.”

Amanda nearly toppled over in a fit of laughter. Cayde sputtered.

“Hey, what did I just say?”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just, I’ve known Zavala since I was a little girl, so hearing you say stuff like that about him feels like,” she scrunched up her nose, “like you’re trying to get it on with my grandpa or something.”

“Right, got it. We are never talking about this ever again.”

“C’mon, Cayde.”

“And for the record, pretty sure I’m older than him. So, just, food for thought.”

“Yeah? Well, last I checked, you didn’t crochet me a scarf last winter, either.” She mimed holding a pair of knitting needles. “Food for thought.”

“He did not.”

“He did.”

Cayde was aghast, but mostly because he was jealous about not getting a scarf.

Amanda meandered back to her work station, gathering up her things. Cayde suddenly cottoned on to how late it was getting, and just how alone they were. Jalaal wasn't even darkening the Dead Orbit corner, and Lakshmi's light was off, too.

“I know it’s almost the weekend and all that, but everyone sure cleared out of here in a hurry.”

Amanda paused to look around, shrugging.

“Oh, they’re all running off to make plans for the big shindig tomorrow.”

“Ah, right,” he gave a vague nod, “the big Restoration Celebration, or whatever they’re calling it.”

She turned to grin at him like the cat that ate the canary.

“I heard you Guardians are having your own special, private party, is that a fact?”

Cayde looked away.

“Yeah, that’s a fact.”

“Well then, Romeo, you know what to do. I won’t nag you about it.”

“Not gonna do anything,” he muttered.

Amanda slung her bag over her shoulder, but stopped short on her way out of the hangar, turning back to Cayde one last time.

“You know, I thought an immortal warrior who just had a serious dance with death would learn to start livin’ like they were dyin’. Guess I was wrong.” She turned away with a shrug. “Guess you’re just gonna have to live with your regrets, instead.”

Then the hangar was empty, save for Cayde and a few odd sweepers.

Regrets, huh? Well, there were already plenty of things Cayde regretted. What difference would one more make?

He shuffled together the few odd trinkets he brought with him. It made him feel better to hold on to stuff other folks would see as garbage; maybe if everyone else was stuck with a mess of jumbled Golden Age memories, they would understand. As he headed for the door, thoughts of the party were weighing him down.

Maybe ‘silly teenage crush’ had been right on the nose.

On his way back to his room, Cayde followed his new routine of taking only elevators and covered walkways back to the barracks. He found that he didn’t care to stand in the courtyard at twilight anymore. The open sky of stars no longer enchanted him the way it used to, quite the opposite. He needed to keep a roof over his head now, because the blanket of night instead invited visions of dark monoliths; sharp daggers of pure evil swarmed his vision, all feeling in his body was reduced to a vicious buzzing in his circuitry.

And this was just a taste, he knew it could get worse. It would get worse.

Cayde knew he was not okay.

  
  


つづく

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue and epilogue are from Cayde's POV, but the rest of the story will follow Zavala.


	2. Chapter 2

Inhale—body awash with the cleansing charge of Arc energy, bracing and uplifting. Exhale—grounding the charge, finding the center, the calm in the eye of the storm. As Zavala stretched his limbs into ancient forms, holding each pose with a breath, releasing it, he felt the tension receding. Once satisfied with his morning exercises, he summoned his Ghost to don his armor. It surprised Zavala how useful such meditations could be. Ikora had been right; he needed to establish new routines in the chaotic wake of the Tower’s restoration. Each day brought unexpected challenges, and his schedule was no longer consistent. One day, the work of the Vanguard would return to normal. For now, the Red War raged on.

All things considered, the mood around the Tower seemed high. Regardless of Zavala’s personal disdain for such sport, the recent Faction Rally had been excellent for morale. He had great hopes for Lord Saladin’s impending visit, as well. Shaxx was doing his best to keep his Guardians’ skills sharp, but the Iron Banner provided some much-needed focus. Now that renovations in the courtyard were complete, he hoped to post both masters of the Crucible closer together. He wanted to keep things organized, even if he risked his former comrades butting heads.

As another golden dawn broke around the Traveler, Zavala took up his post in the courtyard, looking out over the city with swelling pride. The restored warmth of the Traveler’s Light brought Zavala such confidence that he felt any trial, no matter how large, was surmountable. Of course, he knew this was nothing more than arrogance, but he also felt that something had changed—something significant. There was no question, the Vanguard had been shaken to its core by the loss and recovery of so much in so little time. Now, they had a chance to begin again. Zavala felt he was ready to look beyond the mighty walls he had once helped build.

If the fight against Ghaul taught him one thing, it was that hiding behind a shield wasn’t always the wisest option. There was merit in taking risks to wrest freedom from the jaws of death, rather than cowering and clinging to the Light. A certain maverick Hunter had helped inspire this change of heart. If this was to be humanity's second Golden Age, the Vanguard would need to be ready for anything. To that point, there was something yet troubling him.

Where in the name of the Traveler was Cayde?

The Hunter Vanguard had sequestered himself somewhere, tending to his scouts in secret. Perhaps Cayde felt some anxiety about the three of them meeting in the same place. That would be understandable. Zavala discussed this potential vulnerability with Ikora, and she agreed; it was best the Vanguard no longer convened in the same part of the Tower. Still, Ikora at least made an effort to check in with him from time to time. Whenever he caught sight of Cayde, even in passing, he usually couldn't get more than three words out of the man. It was unnerving.

Silence did not suit Cayde-6.

This contrary behavior confounded Zavala. It may have been naive, but he thought they had grown somewhat closer over the events of Ghaul’s offensive—not only as a fireteam, but as friends. The way Cayde was acting now would seem to suggest otherwise. If there was something the matter with Cayde, did he fear some sort of judgement on Zavala’s part? It could be said that most of their relationship had been defined by conflict; Zavala had long been critical of Cayde’s performance as the Hunter Vanguard. Had Zavala been too overbearing throughout the ordeal with Ghaul, pushing Cayde even further away?

More troubling still was the sheer quantity of time he seemed to spend thinking about Cayde. Why did his absence seem so glaring? Ever since the moment Zavala was forced to flee the tower, there had been a hole in the pit of his stomach—a fear he couldn't shake. His fireteam meant much more to him than he ever realized, and not knowing whether they had escaped with their lives was devastating. Even after being reunited, the anxiety remained.

<><><>

_As far as refugee camps were concerned, the Farm was a cut above most. The barn that had become their makeshift base of operations was modest in size, but that did little to convince Zavala that keeping track of Cayde would be simple. He didn’t have line of sight on the window where the Hunter Vanguard had posted himself, and it unsettled him._

_"Cayde, are you still there?” He boomed, his tone impatient, “Don’t make me come looking for you."_

_"I'm still here Zavala,” the Exo shouted from across the loft, “You don't have to check on me every ten minutes." He sounded like a petulant child._

_"Cayde. Zavala.” Ikora pressed her hands to her temples, seemingly at her wit’s end, “Stop yelling at each other.”_

_Zavala was never more self-conscious than when Ikora chastised the two of them. They should be above this, better. The Vanguard didn't have time for petty squabbles. He turned back to the railing overlooking the courtyard and stewed in his strange unease._

_He only wanted Cayde and Ikora to stay safe. He couldn't afford to lose them—couldn't stand it. Was that so wrong? When the evening came, and they retired to their small quarters in the farmhouse, Zavala made sure to attempt an apology—as soon as Ikora was fast asleep._

_When searching for Cayde, the smartest way to start was to climb. Sure enough, Cayde had found a precarious perch, leaning partway out the highest window of the loft, staring up at the moon. Zavala cleared his throat as he approached._

_“You don't have to do that, big guy. I can hear you coming a mile away.” There was humor in the Exo’s voice, though it was strained, “You here to check on me again?” He glanced over his shoulder at Zavala, “I haven't flown the coop.”_

_“No, I,” he cleared his throat again, “I wanted to apologize for earlier. I don't want to give you the impression that I don't trust you.”_

_“Nah, I get it,” he shrugged without turning around, “I'm roguish, I play hooky a lot. There was that whole thing with the Dreadnaught. You don't want me playing it fast and loose with my duties at a time like this, that's understandable.”_

_“That,” Zavala shook his head, “That's not the reason I shouted at you.”_

_Cayde glanced back._

_“Oh?”_

_“We're more vulnerable now than we've ever been; it isn't safe to run off on your own.” He could taste the anxiety welling up inside him at the mere thought, “If anything were to happen to either you or Ikora-”_

_“Whoa, whoa,” Cayde chuckled, “Here I thought you were worried I'd skip out on my chores again, but you're stressing over me getting myself killed?” He propped his chin in his hand, “Zavala, I'm touched.”_

_“Cayde, this is serious.”_

_“I know, I'm seriously touched.”_

_The Titan Vanguard felt himself deflate in the face of such a flippant response._

_“At any rate, I apologize for not being able to control my,” Zavala faltered once more, “For not being able to control my emotions. I try not to show it, but I’ll admit I’ve been preoccupied.”_

_The Exo half-turned from the window frame, curious blue lights now fixed on Zavala._

_“Preoccupied with what,” he shrugged, “death?”_

_“The fear of death, yes,” Zavala conceded, “Though it is not thoughts of my own death which plague me.”_

_“You’re that worried about me?” Cayde balked, corrected himself, “About me and Ikora?”_

_“I'm know I'm ready to face my end in service of the city—The Vanguard owes humanity nothing less—but my breath stops short when I think of what that really means. The two of you,” Zavala lingered on the image of Cayde, rim-lit by the moon in the window frame—a Guardian of the Light, made mortal._

_“The two of you are all I have left.”_

_Cayde's arms fell loose to his sides. Was he speechless? It seemed impossible._

_“You know, Zavala,” he countered, his voice low and thoughtful, “Ikora and I may not be big, buff Titans or what have you, but we're not fragile. So, our Light is out for now,” he brought a hand to rest on his holster, “But we're warriors—veterans, same as you. It's gonna take more than a few Cabal with nasty attitudes to shut this operation down for good.”_

_Zavala considered this. It was remarkable how reassured he felt, hearing those words._

_“You're right,” he admitted. “Again, I'm embarrassed to voice these doubts aloud. I promise to put these insecurities behind me as best I can.”_

_“Hey, it's no big deal, buddy. We're all a little shaken,” he grinned, “even you big, buff Titans. So, one way or another, we've got your back.”_

_“Thank you, Cayde, truly. You've helped to put my mind at ease.”_

_“Don't mention it.”_

_Something strange seemed to pass between them, then. An awkward silence fell, tension sucking the air from the space until Zavala could remain no longer._

_“All that being said, Cayde,” Zavala sighed, “I don't need to remind you that you're Lightless. You shouldn't be leaning out of a window like that.”_

_Cayde stared, blinked, and stared some more. Slowly, he pulled away from the window, turning to lean against the wall. After a moment, his eyes snapped to the floor._

_“Alright, mother hen,” he shrugged, “You got it.”_

_Zavala beat a hasty retreat._

<><><>

Puzzling over these events ad nauseum brought Zavala no closer to answers. Cayde was keeping a low profile, but he seemed to have made allowances when it came to Ikora’s company. Zavala knew she had already found Cayde's hiding place; she seemed to have it all well in hand. There was some conspiracy here which, while intuitive to Ikora, was lost on the likes of him. On this, the morning of the Restoration Celebration, he felt it was time to broach the subject with the Warlock Vanguard.

He didn’t often venture into the bazaar, largely out of a desire to avoid Executor Hideo at all costs. Still, he knew this was where Ikora preferred to do business these days. Her small reception area was well decorated, and quite inviting. Given the multitude of artifacts strewn about, she seemed to be relishing having the extra space to dedicate herself to her research.

Zavala waited for the last of the Warlocks she was speaking with to take their leave. It was almost noon, and the bazaar was thrumming with anticipation for the festivities taking place later that evening. When she looked up, she seemed very surprised to see him—that is, as surprised as Ikora can be by anything. He offered her a cordial nod.

“Ikora, might I have a moment of your time?”

She extended a hand to bid him closer, the hint of a smile dancing behind her eyes.

“Of course, Zavala. What seems to be on your mind?” Ikora had the most annoying habit of asking questions in a way that suggested she already knew the answer. This exchange was no exception. He supposed there was no sense in beating around the bush.

“It’s about Cayde,” he began, unsure why he felt so self-conscious about asking, “You have been to see him, yes?”

“I have,” she acknowledged, her amusement only growing, “It seems there’s a particular spot in the hangar he’s been favoring these days.”

The hangar? Zavala could see the appeal—plenty of distractions, lots of ships coming and going.

“Does there seem to be something amiss with him?" He crossed his arms, unable to appear nonchalant even for all his efforts, "Were you able to determine the cause of his elusive behavior?”

Ikora raised one perfect brow.

“I did speak to Cayde, just yesterday. He felt very distant, distracted, but it wasn’t interfering with his duties as far as I could tell.” She scrutinized Zavala. “Before I share my theory as to the reason he’s been keeping to himself, I have a question for you.”

Zavala hesitated.

“What question would that be?”

She clasped her hands behind her back, turning to gaze upon the Traveler.

“In the days before Ghaul’s attack, Cayde had a certain reputation for neglecting his commitments to the Vanguard.”

“Yes-”

“Since the restoration, however, his record has been impeccable. Which begs the question, Commander,” Ikora challenged, “Why have you been so fixated on how Cayde conducts himself in the first place?”

Somehow, this line of inquiry had managed to become even more humiliating. Warlock curiosity would be the end of him, one day.

“I’m not sure how to answer that.” Were he not pinned beneath Ikora’s piercing gaze, he would have started pacing. “Perhaps, after spending time in such proximity, I’ve grown used to his presence and now,” he shrugged, “Well, he seems to be acting out of character. In this case, I’m not concerned about his performance as a member of the Vanguard. I suppose I’m just concerned for his well-being.” Zavala cast his eyes skyward. “Does that make sense?”

Ikora laughed softly.

“It makes perfect sense, Zavala. I only thought it noteworthy because, well,” she wandered over to his side, “You seem to be acting a bit out of character yourself.”

He considered her myriad of possible meanings.

“You think it out of character for me to show this sort of concern on behalf of a comrade?”

“Not in the least,” she chuckled, “I’m just surprised that, for once, the comrade in question seems to be Cayde.”

Zavala tensed. Guilt sifted to surface whenever the history of his professional relationship with Cayde was called into question.

“I suppose I have been harsh on him, in the past,” he conceded, “but that doesn't mean I can't see beyond our differences.”

She looked at Zavala with something like pity in her eyes.

“My advice is to approach Cayde about this directly, not as a colleague, but as a friend.”

“He’s been hiding," Zavala countered, "Would that sort of interference be welcome?”

“You care for him, Zavala, as do I.” She gave him a pat on the shoulder as she meandered off to take a break, “I think he needs to be reminded of that.”

Zavala watched her leave, stranded alone in his tangled thoughts. She never did answer his question.

The hour grew late as he wrapped up the last of his meetings. The celebration would be starting within a few hours, but all his confounded brain could think about was the image of Cayde, sulking in the loft of a moonlit barn. Something clicked. There was enough of a romantic in Zavala to know the name of the sinking feeling in his gut.

He was a fool. It should not have required a near-death experience to realize what he'd been missing.

The very second Zavala stepped into the hangar, Cayde pitched a small fit right where he stood.

“Oh the love of-” the Exo slid both hands over his face, “I can’t believe this. Ikora is such a narc.”

“Of course she is,” Zavala sympathized, walking over to Cayde’s post, “I’m sure this comes as no real surprise.”

Cayde looked amused, in spite of himself.

“Guess not,” he sighed, crossing his arms. “Okay, then. What can I do for you, Commander?” There was that stubborn glare; This conversation was going to take patience, as well as a bit of extra diplomacy. He struggled to land on a suitable opener.

“Flashpoint seems to be a success. I wanted to congratulate you.”

“Uh, thank you?” This seemed to throw Cayde for a loop. “Did you really come all the way over here to congratulate me? Sorry, but if that’s true, I’m gonna need a copy in writing. Y’know, as proof.”

Zavala took a deep breath.

“I came here to check on you.”

There weren’t many people in the hangar at all, so the silence was quite deafening.

“You, uh,” Cayde choked back static, “what?”

“You haven’t seemed yourself lately, and I was,” Traveler help him, “I was worried about you.”

How many seconds of Cayde’s wide-eyed shock would he have to endure?

“Wow,” the Exo recovered, none-too gracefully, “Both you and Ikora really have your panties in a bunch over little old me, huh? I’m fine, guys, sheesh,” he scoffed, staring hard at the floor, “Can’t a guy get a little privacy over here without someone calling out a search party?”

Zavala wasn’t convinced, but he supposed now was not the time to split hairs with the man. It was getting late, and he had said his piece.

“If you’re certain, I won’t pry any further.”

He made to leave, but Cayde looked up at him with a start.

“Hey, will uh,” he stammered again, like he couldn’t figure out what to say. It was more endearing than it had any right to be. “That thing is happening tonight, are you gonna be,” he shrugged, “You’ll be there I guess?”

“We all have to be there, Cayde, as the Vanguard.” He smiled gently. “The hosts can hardly skip their own celebration.”

“Right,” he muttered, “Makes sense. Just, the thought of Commander Zavala at a party, y’know,” Cayde trailed off. Zavala quirked an eyebrow.

“I'll see you later, Cayde.”

The feeling of blue eyes boring into his back as he left the hangar, trying to read him, was strangely satisfying. Was this how Ikora felt, waking with her head held high and full of secrets? He wondered.

For centuries, Zavala never felt he had time for anything softer than iron. Something inside him had changed—something significant. Now, he was overwhelmed by a bittersweet fondness, and though it terrified him, he hoped that change would prove to be for the better.

 

つづく

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Vanguard shouting at each other from their posts in the barn is one of my favorite little tidbits of dialogue in the whole story mission; it really caught me off guard when I first heard it in-game.
> 
> I haven't written fanfic in about five years, so I was very surprised by all the interest in the prologue chapter. All your kind comments were very encouraging, and very much appreciated! Anyhow, I hope to have the next chapter up within about a week. Thank you all so much for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

It had been centuries since the Last City had any special cause for celebration, longer still since the Guardians took time out of their schedules to join in the festivities themselves. As the night fell, the city skyline came alive with fireworks, reflections of sparks winking in the floating shards of the Traveler. The air was electric with laughter and song.

Zavala could think of no other night quite like it.

Up on the Tower, the courtyard and bazaar were decked in colored streamers and strings of golden lights, stretching from roof to roof in a web of brilliance that lit the night like daylight. All the shops were open, giving away food and drink for free, and the largest meeting hall available had been converted into a makeshift tavern for the Vanguard’s private celebration.

Round tables stood throughout the hall at regular intervals, leaving space in the center for a large wooden dance floor, and each table was lit from above by intricate, old-fashioned chandeliers. The effect was captivating. Ikora had overseen most of the preparations herself, insisting she was more than capable of planning the event on her own. Still, Zavala approached her side to check on things, just before they were set to open the doors to welcome a horde of rowdy Guardians.

“Does everything seem to be in order, Ikora?”

She looked up at him with a wry smile.

“Oh, I think this will be a night our Guardians will remember for a long time, old friend.”

With a wave of her hand, she signaled two Frames waiting by the entrance that it was time to admit the crowd. The Frames tending the bar at the back for the room looked up with a start, readying themselves for the onslaught as Guardians began pouring in. Without warning, there was a crackle over the public address system.

“Testing, uh,” Cayde’s voice blared over the din of the congregation, “Testing, one, two, three.” Zavala felt some part of himself relax upon hearing the voice of the Hunter Vanguard. The man had been acting so peculiar as of late, Zavala had some doubts about whether Cayde would even show.

“Good evening, Hunters, Titans, and even Warlocks.” Ikora rolled her eyes as Cayde continued, “Tonight, we’re here to celebrate kicking Ghaul’s ass and taking back our home, all in time for the holiday season. That’s what I call mission accomplished.”

The crowd cheered with reckless abandon.

“Now, the Traveler knows we’ve all been through a lot these past few months, and it’s been one hell of a journey trying to pick up all the pieces. But we’re not here to dwell on that tonight, folks, tonight is about you. All of you. So grab a glass, grab a partner, and let’s toast to a new beginning.”

“Hear hear!” Came a roar from Shaxx, voice carrying even above raucous applause.

In the corner of the room, a small light caught Zavala’s attention. On a stool atop a small platform sat Cayde, his Ghost hovering nearby to pick up his voice. In his hands he held a Golden Age instrument, stringed and hollow, the likes of which Zavala had only seen once or twice before. It looked worn, but otherwise well-cared-for.

“I hope you all don’t mind, but I’ve been waiting for a decent opportunity to break out this little beauty for a performance.” He smiled to himself, plucking at the strings with a small pick in his right hand, “And anyway, I only just remembered how to play. Enjoy.”

The chatter faded as people paused to listen close to the golden tones being captured by Cayde’s Ghost. The instrument reverberated with a warm sound, a melody soft and fleeting as a stream, washing over the crowd. It was an honor to hear a real instrument being played in-person; some of the Exos in the crowd looked close to tears, if it were possible. Zavala, for his own part, was surprised that Cayde had chosen to keep such a rare talent hidden for so long. Most of all, he was just relieved to see the man out celebrating among friends.

<><><>

_As soon as their Light returned, the Vanguard led the charge to liberate the Last City from Ghaul’s remaining Legionaries. Zavala had never felt so exhilarated; at last he could avenge the fallen Lightless Guardians. His fireteam rushed into battle beside him, each glowing, resplendent with purple and gold. Hordes of Cabal lay decimated behind him, his limbs singing with a Striker’s blue lightning as he leapt high into the air for another assault. He caught Cayde watching a spectacular strike of his Fists of Havoc with something like awe etched onto his face, as if he had never even seen Zavala before._

_In the wake of that battle, Cayde was nowhere to be found. It felt so wrong—he should be there to savor the moment with his comrades. Their enemy had been routed from the valley, so what remained that was worth hiding from? The longer Cayde was absent, the less Zavala could ignore it._

<><><>

Zavala was startled from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder.

“Just weeks ago, if you had told me Guardians would be celebrating on the wall again, I might have laughed you out of the barn,” Shaxx boomed, from just behind his ear. Zavala glared up at him, though he felt no animosity. The tension that had burdened their friendship since Twilight Gap felt somewhat lighter since the Traveler’s awakening.

“How unlike you, Shaxx, to have such little faith in your fellow Guardians, no matter how Lightless.”

“Oh, I had every confidence we would do what was necessary to protect this planet,” he boasted. “Only, I didn’t expect so many of us to survive, let alone any of these halls to still be standing. We are most fortunate.” He raised a stein of something frothy to his face but faltered, presumably due to the fact he was the only one in the room still wearing a helmet. Before Zavala could comment, he noticed Ikora a few paces away, worrying her thumb in distress. The party had only been in progress for an hour, so he wondered what had her so concerned that he could approach without her noticing.

“That’s not good,” Ikora muttered to herself.

“What’s the matter?” Zavala leaned in, trying to follow her gaze.

“When did Cayde start drinking?” She demanded, and he caught a glimpse of Cayde swaying by the bartop, a glass of something amber in his hand. Zavala realized he'd lost track of the Exo sometime after the impromptu performance ended, caught up as he was in conversation with inebriated Titans.

“I’m not sure.” Zavala shook his head, “Perhaps an hour ago?”

Ikora scoffed, massaging her temples in a familiar gesture of exasperation.

“Oh, Cayde,” she grumbled, “I should have anticipated this.” It was times like these that Zavala felt a stranger to his fellow members of the Vanguard; Ikora and Cayde did share memories of their younger years that Zavala played no part in.

“Does Cayde not normally-”

“He hasn’t been a drinker since his Crucible days,” she revealed, “And with good reason.”

Zavala had no idea what to make of that.

“What do you mean?”

She stared at him for a long moment, lost in her private mental calculus.

“You and I should find a place to sit down,” she cast a sideways glance at Cayde, “somewhere inconspicuous.”

The two of them found an unoccupied table some distance from the bar, closer to the latticed windows which lined the front of the room. After taking a long pull, Ikora set her tall drink down in front of her.

“Once upon a time, after every Crucible victory, Cayde would gather up scores of other Guardians for a night on the town. He would leave the Tower, hopping from bar to bar throughout the City,” she paused, “and then things would get out of hand.”

Zavala quirked an eyebrow.

“That does not surprise me.”

“You don’t understand,” Ikora insisted. “Cayde no longer drinks at all—at least not in public—because he gained something of a reputation for, how do I put this delicately,” she hedged, “Getting a bit too friendly with people. When his inhibitions drop-”

“There you are, my favorite people—my two favorite people on the whole planet Earth,” came the unmistakable voice of a very, very inebriated Cayde-6.

“Well, shit,” Ikora swore, taking another long sip of her cocktail.

Before Zavala could turn around, he felt the Exo amble up behind him, set his drink on the table, and lean over to rest his arms atop the back of Zavala’s chair. Ikora hid her face in her hands, as if she couldn't bear to watch.

“What’re you two old ladies gossiping about over here, huh? It better not be me, ‘cause if it is,” he teetered over to whisper in Zavala’s ear, “I reserve the right to defend myself.”

Startled, Zavala leapt to his feet, rounding on Cayde in an instant. Just as he opened his mouth to reprimand Cayde for invading his personal space, he felt gloved fingers pressed against his lips.

“Shh, shh,” Cayde had the nerve to actually shush him, “Simmer down, there, big guy, we shouldn’t fight on a night like tonight. No way.” Zavala felt a sharp tug at the Titan mark wrapped around his waist.

“Tonight, you and I should dance.”

As Cayde pulled away, letting the Titan mark drop from his fingers, he beckoned Zavala towards the dance floor. The Awoken man felt rooted to the spot, the very definition of conflicted. Mortified did not describe what he was feeling, exactly, as only a handful of onlookers had caught sight of what transpired, but Cayde’s sudden advances were wreaking havoc on his brain. Worse yet, it didn’t seem to matter that Zavala was not responding, as Cayde required no provocation. The Exo danced back over to the table.

“I should have guessed you were the shy type. S’ok, you can follow my lead.”

Zavala did his level best to maintain a stoic face as Cayde continued to dance in circles around them, carrying on in a brazen display. Now and again, the Exo would dip in close to try and pry Zavala’s arms from where they were glued to his sides—coerce him into joining the dance. Zavala cast a litany of pleading glances towards Ikora, but each bid for help was denied as she simply shrugged into her drink. Backup was not coming; Zavala was on his own.

So be it.

Steeling himself, the Titan leaned over the table and slammed back the rest of Cayde's rather potent drink. The burn of it was bracing. In one smooth motion, Zavala turned to Cayde and hoisted the Exo up and over his shoulder, heading for the entrance posthaste.

"Oh, you brute,” Cayde hollered through his own laughter. He was being so loud, he made several nearby Guardians jump, “You beautiful barbarian!"

The room was now dead quiet save for Cayde's shouting, and remained so until Zavala was clear of the door. From behind, he heard Ikora order another round of drinks on the Vanguard, and the party sprung back to life. He would have to thank her later.

Walking through the corridors of the Tower, dark but for the sparkling of festive fairy lights, Cayde seemed beside himself that Zavala could haul him around like he weighed nothing. Cayde wriggled, trying to look at Zavala, who merely tightened his grip on the Hunter's legs.

"Are you for real? You just dead-lifted me like a sack of potatoes in front of everyone. You're killin’ me, Zavala,” he slurred. “That was so hot.”

Zavala felt his ears glowing with embarrassment, acutely aware of Cayde's voice echoing through the silent halls as he carried his drunken friend back to the barracks.

“Damn, but these arms, though. Probably works of art under all this Plasteel, huh? Cut like marble.” There was a dull smacking sound as Cayde began patting at various parts of Zavala’s armor. “Hiding these muscles should be a crime.”

That single drink hadn't been enough. The Titan was at his wits end, trying not to be swayed by this drunken flattery. It didn't mean anything.

“Cayde, do you mind?”

“Aren't you listening? Yes, I mind. I mind a lot.” Leather gloves pried at Zavala's vambraces in vain, “I wanna see whats under there.”

Determined to make it through the night without losing his sanity, Zavala redoubled his focus on just carrying the man, when the Exo went rather quiet.

Then, something strange happened.

Out of nowhere, there came the feeling of a phantom touch—faint at first, then firm—like hands roving over his naked back, as if he wasn’t wearing any armor at all. His mind went blank. These hands could not belong to Cayde, but there was no one else around, and he could think of no other explanation. Zavala was Awoken, and thus not a complete stranger to sensation of telekinesis. He had never been involved with an Exo, but he had heard rumors. The caress spread down and around to his front, across his stomach, and for a moment he forgot to breathe.

"Cayde,” Zavala gasped, “you will control yourself, or I will drop you and leave you here.” Despite his wavering resolve, he had no choice but to start walking faster. The Hunter wiggled lower in the Titan’s grasp, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“Zavala,” Cayde moaned, nipping and biting at the back of his neck, heat washing over blue skin in a Solar glow, “Zavala, please-”

They were nearly to Cayde's door. With haste, Zavala whipped the Exo off of his shoulder and into a bridal carry, startling him into submission. Cayde lay there with his hands curled against his chest, blinking owlishly up at Zavala.

“Cayde,” he growled, locking eyes with the man in his arms, pulling him close, “Behave.”

Cayde's lips parted, just an inch, and Zavala could feel all the tension drain out of his body.

“Okay,” came a husky reply.

When they arrived, the Exo summoned his Ghost to handle the lock without prompting, and the door slid open. Zavala could only spare the cramped, dim quarters a brief once-over before sitting on the small bed, huddled against the wall. He sat there at a loss, for a moment, his arms still full of Cayde.

“Hey,” Cayde leaned forward, brushing his horn against Zavala’s jawline, “stay with me tonight? Zavala,” he whispered, nuzzling closer, “Zavala, I need you.” He felt that strange touch again—like a pair of hands were caressing the skin of his shoulders, and he couldn't help but tense up. Cayde hummed, as if amused.

“Oh, you look confused. You never done it with an Exo before?” He chuckled, and the phantom hands were reaching lower, even as his real hands gently cupped Zavala's face, “Don't worry, I'm a good teacher. I'll treat you so nice.”

There was a feeling of lips against his, both flesh and metal, melding into one. In all his long life, Zavala had taken few partners to bed, and it was true there had been no Exos among them. Even so, the sensation of kissing Cayde was almost beyond description. It was as if he were kissing two people at once; there was the metal he could see when he opened his eyes, but there was also a ghostly feedback—the warmth of lips, of skin moving against his own. Cayde's real hands, fixed on his cheeks, were shadowed by phantom fingers, somehow roving across his chest, beneath his armor.

Zavala inhaled sharply through his nose. It was all too much, he was being overwhelmed—could feel himself responding. Cayde dragged that second pair of hands all along Zavala’s back, tracing his spine with the scratching sensation of fingernails. The faintest moan escaped his lips into the kiss, encouraging the Exo to wrap his legs around Zavala, grinding his hips down into the lap beneath him. Again, though fully armored, there was the sensation he was wearing nothing at all. That spectral contact was bewildering as it was exquisite—he was utterly defenseless against it. He could feel the glow of his skin brightening under Cayde's ministrations, see his own pale light reflected against Cayde’s face.

“Look at you glow, Big Blue,” Cayde murmured against his cheek, “it's like a full moon in here. I take it you're enjoying the lesson?”

Zavala was about to reply when he was affronted by the smell of liquor. He felt his heart sink.

Of course. How could he have forgotten?

“Cayde,” he sighed, willing his body to obey him as he pushed the Exo away with care, laying him against the lone pillow. “Cayde. I'm afraid you're drunk, my friend.”

The phantom touch vanished the instant they broke contact. Cayde made a desperate grab for Zavala’s shoulder as he was manhandled down onto the bed.

“No no no, c’mon, I'm okay.” Sure enough, his speech was slurring worse with every word. “I'm good for it, just please-” He was begging, now, voice fading back to a whisper.

“Please don't leave me.”

The Exo’s chest felt hot to the touch, even through his leather armor, as if his systems were working overtime just to burn off the alcohol.

“I will stay,” he conceded, bringing a gentle hand to rest on Cayde's cheek, “but I think you ought to rest.”

“Zavala,” Cayde looked like wanted to protest further, but couldn't find the words.

There Zavala sat, on the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do. He held Cayde's hand, tracing soothing circles against his palm, until those blue eyes drifted shut, and his systems seemed to slip into standby. Inexperienced as he was with matters of Exo physiology, Zavala felt he was right not to give in to Cayde’s advances. He didn't even know if Cayde could control those abilities while under the influence. Zavala made sure Cayde was resting comfortably—loosening bits of leather armor where he could reach the straps—and just observed him for awhile, lost in thought.

Before the break of dawn, he turned to leave the room, ignoring the way Cayde’s ghost seemed to blink at him in the dark, imploring Zavala to stay.

Oh, Cayde.

They were going to have to talk about this.

 

つづく

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about Exos being able to eat and get drunk, as well as the Exo mind-sex, is extra-curricular lore gleaned from [this Bungie forum AMA](https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/227763711?page=0&sort=0&showBanned=0&path=0). The bit about the Awoken glowing instead of becoming flushed is just my own head-canon nonsense ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. Chapter 4

Zavala saw no point in trying to get to sleep before his day began; the hour was late, and his mind was far too preoccupied to allow him any rest. Instead, he found himself strolling around the Tower, hands behind his back, lost in thought. There was almost no activity anywhere. A few scattered Frames were cleaning up after the chaos of the festivities the night before, but there was nary a Guardian in sight. He supposed that was a sign the celebration was a success.

On the way to his post, he wandered past what looked to be the sleeping form of Shaxx, curled up in a heap of blankets beneath his prized Ahamkara skull. It seemed he was being tended to by a small complement of Redjacks. As Zavala puzzled over why militant Frames would have such a directive in the first place, he was startled from his thoughts by a muffled cackle.

“Never thought I’d see the day, Zavala.”

That smug tone set off alarm bells in his head, but he refused to be put on the defensive.

“Good morning, Shaxx,” he nodded, pausing his stride while the Crucible master extricated himself from his shroud of blankets. “What, may I ask, are you referring to?”

“Any other day of the year, you would have shouted down the roof over Cayde’s head for the stunt he pulled last night. And yet, from where I was standing, I didn’t hear a single complaint.” There was no way to know if the man was smiling, but it sounded like it. “Was there a truce in honor of the occasion, or are you just going soft?”

There were a thousand ways he could respond to this jibe, but somehow, he didn’t feel like treating it as a challenge. What use were feelings of shame or regret? He was tired.

“What can I say?” He shrugged, looking out at the Traveler. “Time makes fools of us all.”

“And what’s this? Not even any fight left for me? Who are you, and what have you done with Commander Zavala?” Shaxx laughed, though he sounded nervous. However rhetorical, Zavala considered this question with great care.

“Change is vital. We only live so long as these Ghosts can sustain us, Shaxx; we aren’t eternal. We can ill afford to be stagnant.”

“Such wisdom I might expect from Ikora," he scoffed, "but to hear it from a fellow Titan?”

“Well, being Lightless does wonders for one’s perspective.”

Shaxx shook his head, looking doubtful.

“Perhaps I overindulged last night, after all. It might explain the headache.”

Zavala stared absently at the Redjacks, still picking up the clutter of mugs and glasses strewn about the area.

“Indeed.”

Before he could turn to leave, Shaxx cleared his throat.

“Saladin is going to be here in a few days.”

Zavala tensed.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Shaxx, still fully armored, stood up from the makeshift bedclothes.

“What about him?” He began brushing himself off, adjusting his helmet and mark. “Do you think he’s changed at all?”

A strange thought occurred to Zavala, then, for the first time. Perhaps he really was going soft.

“Try asking him. Not as a colleague, but as a friend.” He smiled, “A very old friend.”

Shaxx had no response for that, it seemed.

Zavala continued his morning walk.

Although it took somewhat longer than normal, the rest of the Tower did eventually rise to meet the day. Guardians weren’t exactly lining up for Strike assignments, but there was enough activity to keep him occupied for a few hours. All the while, he was mulling over what to do about Cayde.

First, there was the general problem of the Exo’s unusual behavior. Ghaul’s invasion had affected each of them in different ways, and it seemed to have triggered a perplexing attitude adjustment in Cayde. In light of his behavior at the celebration, he would be remiss in not addressing those concerns, to say nothing of the alcohol use, as well as his own personal boundaries.

Then there was the matter of what happened after removing Cayde from the party.

He tried looking at the last problem objectively. Although the revelation was quite recent, Zavala knew he had feelings for Cayde. This was still a challenging concept. It had been centuries since he was involved with anyone, and intimacy had never been his strong suit, be it physical or emotional. Indeed, the only emotional constant in his relationship with Cayde, until recently, was dissidence. If Cayde were more reliable, they might have had fewer arguments, but there were things he had always appreciated about the Hunter; he was forthright, clever, and his tactics were unorthodox. In fact, he was so preoccupied with sanctioning Cayde for dereliction of duty, that he often neglected to give credit where credit was due.

<><><>

_“So, Zavala, I gotta ask you something.” Cayde was preening, even just as a voice over the comms, “When you told our Guardian friend here, and I quote, ‘I need Cayde,’ did you by any chance happen to, maybe, cry?”_

_Zavala cleared his throat. He could recognize bait when he heard it._

_“Holliday. What’s your status?”_

_“Let the record show; no denial.”_

_Amanda cut in._

_“Still a couple clicks out, Commander. This girl’s heavy.”_

_When Amanda’s payload was at last revealed, Cayde threw a tantrum._

_“You got them a tank? How come I never got a tank?”_

_Amanda had to laugh._

_“You know you’d just break it.”_

_From that point forward, keeping Cayde focused on the task at hand was like pulling teeth. It was of the utmost urgency that they get to Thumos in time, or they would lose their shot at the Almighty altogether. Still, much to Zavala's dismay, the conversation kept coming back around to him._

_“So, if it wasn’t to give me a tank, why did you send our favourite Guardian to find me?”_

_Was this grilling necessary? If Cayde was fishing for praise, it seemed important to him that others were present to bear witness._

_Fine._

_“Your high-risk, high-reward combat maneuvers can be effective,” he confessed, “and inspirational.”_

_There was a beat of silence. Perhaps Cayde hadn't expected him to answer._

_“Well yeah, but with a tank, they could be like a million times more inspirational.”_

_Deflection._

_Once their Guardian was safely aboard the carrier, he breathed a sigh of relief. They were one step closer to mounting a proper offensive._

_“Good work Guardian.”_

_He was about to close the channel when he had one last thought._

_“And Cayde, after this is over,” Zavala relented, “I’ll talk to Holliday about your tank.”_

_Given their history, it was an absurdly sentimental gesture._

_“Aw, I missed you too, buddy.”_

<><><>

If he stood there stuck in his head all day over his issues with Cayde, he risked subjecting some hapless Titan to an angry outburst. Sooner rather than later, the two of them were going to have to talk. The longer he thought about it, the more he worried he might lose his resolve. He supposed it was natural to be nervous about conversations of this nature, but he was just so out of his depth, he couldn’t be sure. At the very least, he knew it was a conversation best kept private. The first step would be convincing Cayde they needed to meet somewhere discreet.

Around noon, he ventured over to the hangar, and met with a curious scene; Cayde, perched on a teetering stack of cushions, exchanging bits of glimmer for strange relics offered up by various Guardians.

“Cayde,” he began, but stopped short when several Guardians whipped around to stare in his direction, a hush falling over the group of them. Someone nudged the Hunter Vanguard, who unceremoniously toppled off his tower of pillows in surprise.

“Cayde,” Zavala soldiered on, while the Exo righted himself, “might I borrow you for a moment?”

“Only if you promise to return me,” he quipped, waving off all the onlookers. “Take a walk, everybody.”

No one dared look back at Zavala as they jogged out of the hangar as fast as they could. Cayde seemed determined not to look at him, either, instead taken with a peculiar vegetable he was holding in his hands. Zavala stared at Cayde, until the man wandered over to his desk, placed the strange object in a bowl, and finally turned to look at him.

“So.” The Exo crossed his arms. “What’s new?”

“‘What’s new?’ What’s new is that we need to talk, Cayde.” He gestured at the vast openness of the hangar around them. “Preferably somewhere more private.”

"Why, you got some good gossip?” Cayde rubbed his hands together. “I hear the old Iron Banner is coming back to the Tower this week. Tell me, he used to be your mentor, so you oughta know,” he leaned in close, with a conspiratorial whisper, “What's Saladin got going on under that helmet? I'll bet he's handsome. He sounds handsome."

Zavala was at a loss over how to respond. Saladin? Where on Earth was this coming from?

“I’m not sure whether you’re being facetious, or you really haven't seen Lord Saladin without his helmet on.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And what difference does his appearance make in the first place?”

Cayde tugged down the sides of his hood in apparent frustration.

“Oh, never mind, you Titans wouldn’t know fun even if it punched you right in the face.” Cayde paused. “On second thought, that’s probably exactly how you guys have fun. Is that what Saladin’s into? You can tell me, I can keep a secret.”

Whether or not this was all some inscrutable joke, Cayde seemed to have a few misconceptions about Zavala’s relationship with his former teacher.

“What Lord Saladin may or may not be ‘into’ is none of my business,” he warned, “nor yours.”

“Alright, okay.” Cayde threw up his hands in mock surrender. “No more of that. Forget I mentioned it.”

Zavala was so baffled by the turn the conversation had taken, he had forgotten the reason he’d walked over to the hangar in the first place. Were this an isolated incident, Zavala would have thought little of it. The Exo was mercurial at the best of times, and he was prone to flights of fancy. Unfortunately, day after day, there seemed to be a theme developing when it came Zavala’s attempts at conversation with Cayde.

_“Hideo is clearly into you. That whole thing about making you King? What a pickup artist.”_

_“I think I’ve seen Lakshmi sneaking up to the roof of the hangar to spy on you. Think she’s got a crush?”_

_“I wonder what Eva's been up to lately. Remember that sweater she made for you? Wasn't that was sweet of her?”_

_“So Rahool is definitely,” Cayde stumbled, “also an Awoken. Small world, huh? Tess, too, she’s very cute. Can’t forget about her.”_

There was no mistaking it; Cayde seemed intent on trying to distract Zavala with every single person on the planet other than himself. The Titan was dumbfounded. He couldn't tell whether Cayde was trying to forestall an unpleasant discussion, or just send Zavala a message that he wasn’t interested. Either way, it had to be spelled out in no uncertain terms, or Zavala was going to come unhinged.

It had been five days since the celebration. That evening, rather than retiring to his quarters after dark, he waited by the hangar entrance, just out of sight. As Cayde rounded the corner, he formed a perfect roadblock.

“Whoa, holy-” the Exo brought a hand to his chest, as if to steady his breathing, “Shit, Zavala, you nearly gave me a short circuit.” He shook his head. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“We need to talk, Cayde.” Zavala took one imposing step forward. “We are going to go somewhere private and talk about what happened, or so help me, I will-”

“Okay, okay, yeesh,” Cayde rolled his eyes, swatting at the Titan's cuirass. “You just couldn’t let it go, could you?”

“Why would I-” Zavala caught himself. “Never mind, not here. Follow me.”

Zavala led the way to an empty meeting right room beside the larger hall where the party took place, watching Cayde like a hawk all the while. The Exo seemed nervous, and he kept his gaze trained on the ground for the entire walk. Was there something wrong, or was he just being melodramatic?

Zavala held the door open.

“After you.”

“Much obliged,” the Hunter drawled, with abundant sarcasm. He shuffled into the dim room and sat on end of the long conference table. After brief deliberation, Zavala elected to stand, crossing his arms.

The room was very spartan; decorating such spaces was hardly a priority in the reconstruction. For awhile neither of them spoke, and the silence stretched longer and longer until the tension started eating at his very bones. Cayde gave in first.

“Would you like to kick things off, big guy? Or should I do the honors?”

Zavala tried to temper his impatience.

“Be my guest.”

“Alright,” the Exo mimed a sigh, “I guess I should start by saying I'm sorry.”

An apology was not what he expected Cayde to open with.

“What for?”

“What for?” The Exo wiped a hand across his face faceplates in embarrassment, “For dancing all over you; for treating you like a piece of meat. I know I shouldn't drink, but I did it anyway, and I lost control. You didn't deserve that.”

Blaming the alcohol, however, was exactly what Zavala expected.

“Apology accepted.”

Cayde looked up in confusion.

“What, really?”

Zavala nodded.

“But I do need to clarify a few things.”

“Uh-”

“You kissed me.”

The Exo winced, hunching his shoulders.

“I know, I'm sorry. Again, I was drunk. And I know I shouldn't make excuses, but-”

“More than that, you made some very forward advances, the nature of which were admittedly novel to me.” Zavala had to fight to keep from tapping his foot in agitation.

Cayde looked like he wanted to just disappear into the table.

“Right, so. You mean the Exo stuff?” He rubbed the back of his neck, “I may have been three sheets to the wind, but I could tell you weren't familiar.”

This was getting nowhere. Zavala pressed further.

“Why did you kiss me?”

“I don't-” He looked startled. “I mean, I was drunk, so-”

Deflection.

“You were drunk, yes. Does that mean you would you have kissed just anyone?”

“No, that's not what I-”

“Or were you toying with me?”

“No, dammit, would you let me speak? Look,” Cayde braced himself, “cards on the table, if you kiss an Exo, and they're not into it, you won't feel anything—it’d be like kissing a hunk of metal. You only get feedback from kissing an Exo who really wants it.”

Finally.

“I see.” Zavala took a step towards the table. “You wanted to be kissed, then?”

“Well. Yeah.”

“By me, specifically?”

“Look, yes-”

“And being inebriated had nothing to do with it?”

“Zavala, no.” This was clearly difficult for Cayde to talk about. “I mean, the booze made it easier, I guess? But it wouldn't affect the way my mouth works.”

The more Cayde tried to explain himself, the harder it was to follow.

“Then you intended to seduce me, and I didn't reject you,” the Titan sighed, “yet this entire week, you've done nothing but deflect me deliberately.”

Cayde fixed Zavala with a quizzical stare.

“Wait, back up. You said you didn't reject me. Does that mean,” he blinked, “you were okay with it? But you left, and I thought-”

“As we’ve reiterated several times now, you were drunk; I couldn't be sure what you wanted. I wasn't going to take advantage, no matter how adamant you were.”

“So if I hadn't been drunk,” the proverbial gears in the Hunter’s head were turning, “you would have-”

“Yes.”

Cayde just gaped at him. This was clearly not how he expected this conversation to go.

“Zavala, you’re-” He opened and closed his mouth several times, struggling to find the words. “C’mon, we can't really be-”

“I don't see the need to deny ourselves this.”

“Zavala-”

“Why have you,” he searched for a phrase Cayde might relate to, “Why have you played this hand so close to the chest?”

Cayde looked exhausted.

“I don't know, because we’re co-workers?”

Zavala raised an eyebrow.

“Propriety never concerned you before.”

“Because we’re, uh,” now Cayde seemed to be searching, “We’re ‘brothers-in-arms’, or something?”

“That shouldn't be relevant,” Zavala countered, “Long ago, Shaxx and I-”

“Whoa, no. No no no,” Cayde put his hands up in Zavala's face, “I absolutely cannot hear this story, I will literally explode.”

Ah. Zavala could see how Cayde may have misinterpreted his meaning.

“I was going to say, long ago, we often debated the nature of relationships between allies.” He cleared his throat. “We came to the conclusion that it was better to be honest, or those feelings had a habit of becoming a liability in battle.”

“Huh,” the Exo tilted his head. “No kidding, you guys really used to talk about stuff like that?”

“We did.” He offered Cayde a hand in getting down off the table. “In those days, Shaxx was like a brother to me, and Saladin was my teacher.” Zavala pulled him forward. “For me, Cayde, you have never come close to being either of those things.”

“Well, that's a relief-”

Zavala kissed him. In recent weeks, he had dreamed of silencing Cayde like this more times than he would care to admit. It was overdue. Sure enough, that Solar heat washed over him in an instant, as Cayde leaned up into Zavala’s embrace. After a moment, he reached up to grab the top of the Titan’s cuirass with both hands, pushing back slightly.

“Okay, you make a strong argument,” he murmured, heat trailing along Zavala’s jawline. “But Zavala, are you sure about this?”

Zavala pressed his forehead to Cayde's.

“Why shouldn't I be?”

“It's just that you're, well,” he leaned away. “You’re a great guy, Zavala. Don't you think you deserve someone more,” he trailed off, looking down at the floor again.

“More what?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “just more.”

Is that what all this hesitation was about? Cayde thought he somehow wasn't good enough? The very idea pained him.

“Cayde, I can safely say that, in all my years, I have never met anyone ‘more’ than you.”

Those electric eyes zeroed in on him, twinkling with an emotion that was very difficult to read. Disbelief, maybe? Or perhaps it was more like hope.

“Well, okay then, Casanova,” Cayde laughed. “You really have a way with words, anyone ever tell you that? But I'm dying to know,” the Hunter whispered, draping his arms around Zavala's neck, loose and playful.

“Can you put your money where your mouth is?”

Zavala smiled. That was bait he would take gladly. He hooked his hands down under Cayde's thighs and lifted him up, wrapping the Exo's legs around his waist right where he stood.

“Oh, shit,” Cayde gasped, hugging Zavala tighter as the a ghost of a hand braced itself against Zavala's back. “You already know my weakness,” he chuckled, “I'm done for.”

“Already?” Zavala teased, “That's a shame. I thought we might retire to my quarters.”

Cayde had both of those phantom hands back on him, now, tracing circles across Zavala's chest. Speaking of weaknesses.

“That does sound nice and all,” Cayde nipped at Zavala's ear, “but couldn't we just do it here? It's late, nobody's gonna catch us.”

The space between them seemed just a little brighter, and Zavala realized it was the glow of his own skin. Dammit, Cayde.

“I refuse to remove my armor in a meeting room.”

The Exo had mischief in his eyes.

“Trust me, seeing all of this,” he slid a solid hand across an armored bicep, “is one of my top priorities, but I can wait. Because stripping? Not strictly necessary.”

The hands attending his chest dissolved.

“Want me to show you?" Cayde raised a hand, "Fair warning, the first time can be a little intense.”

Zavala walked over to the table, sitting Cayde back down on the edge of it. He could admit he felt nervous, but only to himself. Cayde seemed determined, so he would try to meet that determination head-on. 

“Do your worst, Hunter,” he teased.

Cayde winked, leaning forward until they were cheek to cheek, temple to temple.

“You got it, Blue.”

In an instant, Zavala was plunged into nothingness. What he could see and feel in reality fell away; he was transported somewhere else. In this space, all that seemed to exist were vague impressions of himself and Cayde—as if they were floating, but whether above, below, or beside each other, it was impossible to tell. For a moment, Zavala felt completely at peace, as a dense mist around them began to coalesce into some indefinite form.

A dark cloud. A swarm of wasps. A fleet which formed a monolith.

In an instant, that peace was shattered.

With a shock as strong as a Striker’s fist to the face, Zavala’s head snapped to the side, and he stumbled almost to the floor as all his senses returned to him. He whirled back around to see Cayde hunched over on the conference table, a hand pressed to his temple.

“Cayde, what's wrong? What-”

“Sorry, I'm-” he rasped, wincing in pain. “I'm sorry. Ugh, my head.”

Zavala was immediately shaken. 

“What can I do?” He fretted, “Should I take you home?”

“No don't,” Cayde begged. “Don't take me outside. Not now.” The Exo closed his eyes. He was trembling. “If I stand under the sky, it'll see me.”

Something was very wrong. Zavala had rarely seen an Exo afflicted this way—experiencing pain with no external cause, experiencing hallucinations.

It was never, ever a good sign.

“Cayde.” He barked, a hand on the Hunter’s shoulder, “What is it? What will see you?”

“It'll see me, it'll see me,” Cayde mumbled, frantic, as if he hadn't heard Zavala at all.

“It wants me to see.”

Suddenly it was clear; all the running and hiding Cayde had done since losing his Light was foreboding of a much larger affliction.

Zavala's mind switched tracks to tactical on a dime. He had to proceed with caution. Cayde was a member of the Vanguard; any hint that he was compromised might invoke the wrath of the Consensus—or at the very least, their meddling. There had to be someone he could turn to; someone both of them could trust.

Zavala could think of no one he trusted more than Ikora.

  


つづく

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing process: How should I ruin Cayde's life today?  
> Anyway, you can tweet me [@leaux_wren](https://twitter.com/leaux_wren), if you feel like it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a bit longer than I wanted it to, but I hope you all enjoy it. The rating has been adjusted again, so beware.

All Zavala knew for certain about Exo psychology was that no one knew much about it for certain; knowledge of their inner workings was lost with the Golden Age. He knew many of them struggled with a sort of frequently recurring memory corruption—Banshee-44 was a famous example—but he never imagined he would witness something like this firsthand. This sudden lapse in Cayde’s condition would be huge blow to the Vanguard, to say nothing of how Zavala was feeling at the moment.

Standing in that same meeting room with Ikora, they looked down at Cayde where he was resting on the conference table, having drifted into standby just as soon as Zavala called for her. He didn’t want to speak; describing what happened would mean that it was all real—this was all really happening. Cayde was in serious trouble. While she waited for him to collect his thoughts, Ikora sat down on the table beside Cayde’s head.

“You’re going to have to talk to me, Zavala.”

He sighed, reaching out to straighten Cayde’s cloak a bit, while he thought of where to begin.

“I’m afraid there is something very wrong with Cayde.”

Ikora scanned the room, as if it could present her with any clues as to what happened, or why they were here.

“Yes, you said as much over the comms,” she coaxed, patient but insistent. “What’s going on? What are you two doing in here at this hour?”

Zavala didn’t mind her knowing—she likely already guessed the truth—but he didn’t care to divulge all the details until he was able discuss things further with Cayde. The Exo might be uncomfortable with Ikora finding out about them this way.

“As you know, he’s been avoiding speaking with me, all the more so since the celebration. I decided to confront him about his behavior, and one thing led to another,” he trailed off. This sort of artifice was Cayde’s strong suit, not his.

“Zavala?”

After a beat, he met her gaze.

“We had a sort of,” he shrugged, “altercation.”

She looked infinitely skeptical.

“You two had another fight?”

“Not precisely,” he conceded, “but that’s beside the point. All of the sudden, he complained of being in tremendous pain, and seemed to be experiencing hallucinations.”

“Hallucinations?” She murmured, unbothered by his evasive answer, “That’s not good.”

All he could offer in reply was a solemn nod.

“Did he say anything unusual?”

It wasn’t just what Cayde said, but the way he said it; there had been terror in his voice.

“He said he was afraid to go out under the night sky—thought something was watching him. ‘It’ll see me,’ were his exact words.”

She looked puzzled.

“Did he say what ‘it’ was?”

Zavala shook his head.

“When I asked for clarification, he,” Zavala frowned, “he did not seem to hear me.”

Ikora was silent, staring at Cayde with a face of stone—it was the closest she ever came to looking afraid.

“You were correct in thinking that we need to keep this quiet,” she agreed, “but we need to bring someone in to help us, or we’ve already lost. Exo science is far from my specialty.”

The Titan hesitated.

“Did you have someone in particular in mind?”

Lakshmi-2 kept an enigmatic schedule, but luckily, she was willing to spare a moment of her evening to answer a few questions, promising the utmost discretion—no doubt to satisfy her own curiosity. When she entered the room and saw Cayde sprawled across the end of the table, she greeted them with a look of grim recognition.

“This came to pass somewhat sooner than our models predicted,” she shook her head, “but then, Cayde has always been difficult for the algorithms to adapt to. Most unfortunate.”

Ikora looked impassive on the surface, but Zavala could tell that Lakshmi’s prescient air was as irksome to the Warlock as ever. Hypocrisy, thy name is Ikora Rey. Zavala stepped in.

“What came to pass?” He asked plainly, having no more patience for games or diplomacy. “What is happening to Cayde?”

Lakshmi regarded Cayde a moment longer, then turned to the rest of the Vanguard with a heavy, affected sigh.

“Cayde-6 may have to be rebooted,” she explained. “Soon.”

Of course. A part of Zavala knew that was where this conversation was headed before it even began. He feared as much the very moment Cayde collapsed in pain, but he hadn’t been capable of admitting it, not even to himself. Upon hearing those words aloud, Zavala’s panic began giving way to grief.

“This is the tragedy of our unique existence,” Lakshmi continued, sounding even more melancholy than usual. “The trigger is different for each of us, but most Exos find that, eventually, our minds end up circling the drain—a vortex we cannot escape from.”

Her expression turned bleak as she folded her arms, as if to stave off a chill.

“It is a problem we cannot solve. What happened during the Collapse? The true nature of the Darkness is a mystery today, but there are many among us who have borne the weight of it upon our very shoulders. We simply cannot remember.”

Zavala shifted, feeling gooseflesh crawl across his back.

“What would happen to us if we ever do manage to remember?” Lakshmi shrugged. “We don’t have enough data to predict the outcome. Few Exos make it far enough down the rabbit hole to find out, but I would wager it is not a pretty sight down there."

She turned her glowing aqua gaze to Zavala.

“Tell me, Commander, what do you know of the Deep Stone Crypt?”

What did any of this have to do with Cayde? He was careful to quell his impatience.

“I can’t say I’m familiar with the term.”

Ikora looked up from her own reverie.

“I have heard one account of the Dream,” she ventured, “although l admit, I found it difficult to understand.”

Lakshmi nodded.

“Rightly so. Few Exos ever share such knowledge with the rest of humanity, largely because we are unable to explain it ourselves. It is written that the Deep Stone Crypt seeded the first Exo consciousness. But what can be said of the Dream? It is a nightmare all Exos share, but each of us must face it alone.”

She stared down at Cayde as she spoke, but Zavala felt she was looking beyond him.

“In the midst of a vast, black expanse rises a stone tower. Though some may journey toward this tower in peace, most of us must face an army to reach it—an army built exclusively of all the people we have met over the course of our lives. Friends. Lovers. The most passing of acquaintances. In order to reach the tower, we must kill them all.”

The room fell silent. She seemed to be struggling with the mere recollection of this nightmare.

“Is that what Cayde is experiencing now?” Zavala asked, “Is he trapped in this dream?”

“As Exos begin experiencing more frequent memory corruptions, we often see this dream nearly every time we sleep.”

Zavala’s stomach twisted as he looked down at the Hunter. Every time? It was a gut-wrenching thought.

“Many assume the Dream represents a desire to return to the Crypt, to our origins, but I theorize it represents a search—we are searching for a memory which might anchor us, staving off the Darkness as it encroaches on our minds. Some memories are grounding, and some are detrimental. We cannot always predict which events will be harmful to our psyches.”

While Lakshmi continued pontificating, Zavala could see Ikora concocting her own plan. She cleared her throat.

“Is there any way we can influence Cayde’s psyche—help guide him away from these harmful memories?”

“Ah, well,” Lakshmi looked startled, or at least a bit embarrassed, “we Exos are not without some psionic capabilities, however,” she trailed off.

Zavala coughed.

“I’m not sure how those could be of any help,” she recovered. “At this point, perhaps the best course of action would be to put Cayde’s affairs in order. Make the transition easier for him.”

Ikora and Zavala looked at each other.

“We appreciate both your assistance and your discretion in this matter,” Zavala intoned.

Lakshmi bowed her head, and took her leave.

After much deliberation between himself and Ikora, they came to the conclusion that Cayde was now teetering on the precipice of a dangerous memory—perhaps even the memory of being consumed by the Darkness during the Collapse. Whether the temporary loss of his Light had helped accelerate the process, Lakshmi did not say, but it seemed the concept of the Darkness itself was a common trigger for Exo memory degeneration.

For the time being, Zavala returned Cayde to his room to sleep.

The next day, Ikora made an excuse to call Cayde and Zavala to a Vanguard-only meeting, for the express purpose of observing the Exo’s behavior. As they feared, Cayde seemed far away, as if old memories were drifting to the surface all at once, often consuming his consciousness to such an extent that he believed he was somewhere else.

"Cayde,” Zavala broached, carefully, “have you heard anything we've been saying for the past thirty minutes?"

"Huh? What?” The Exo looked up from the conference table with a start, “Yes, sir. What's the op—how many shipments are we getting?"

Ikora looked at him, but Zavala couldn’t bear to meet her gaze. Who was Cayde seeing in this moment? What past iteration of himself was he inhabiting? Wordlessly, he and Ikora agreed it was time to adjourn that particular meeting for the day. Neither of them had the emotional willpower necessary to continue.

While Zavala was escorting Cayde back to his room, he was consumed with the growing realization that they could not keep the Hunter Vanguard’s condition a secret for long. At most, they would have a day before people started demanding to know where Cayde went. He was sure those Exos close to Cayde would all come to the same conclusion Lakshmi had.

Cayde was headed for a reboot.

Zavala’s heart ached. He knew it was selfish, shameful how much he was hurting—he had no right. None of this was about him. After all, Cayde-7 wouldn't be certain to remember much of anything, let alone something so trivial as his feelings for Zavala. There was no room for self-pity.

It was time to fight on Cayde’s behalf.

Ikora and Zavala tried pooling their resources. They needed to keep the Vanguard whole, even though they knew they would soon be under political pressure to simply replace Cayde and move on. After everything they went through together in the fight against Ghaul, they refused to back down without doing everything they could.

Still, even with all the strength of the Vanguard and the wisdom of the Hidden at their disposal, there were no obvious options.

“I have one more lead I’d like to follow up on before tomorrow morning,” Ikora chimed in over the comms, as Zavala stared out at the reflection of the sunset on Traveler from his post in the courtyard.

“Roger that,” he sighed. “Good luck. If there are any developments on my end, I’ll let you know.”

Their private channel went silent, then clicked open again, as if Ikora were debating what she wanted to say.

“Remember to take care of yourself, too, Zavala,” she added, closing the channel for the day.

It was difficult debriefing his strike teams with Ikora’s rebuke hanging over his head. Take care of himself? Though he could understand her logic, part of being a leader was knowing when to put the needs of one’s team above one’s own. Right now, Cayde needed him most.

That evening, Zavala was relieved to receive a message from Cayde, inviting him back to his quarters. He was grateful for the opportunity to check on the Hunter without overstepping his bounds. After only just coming to grips with the fact that there was something happening between them, it was becoming clear that they might not have much time left to enjoy it. At the very least, he wanted to spend some time alone together.

When he arrived, he found Cayde sitting up on the edge of his bed, in the half-light of a lantern. He looked world-weary, and Zavala felt a pang of sorrow as he approached.

“Were you able to rest? How are you feeling?” He asked, hating the banality of such questions.

“I caught a few winks, but you know,” Cayde grumbled, massaging his head, “I feel like I fell off a cliff, and my Ghost didn’t rez me right.”

Wringing his hands a bit, he realized he was fidgeting, but the Titan couldn't help himself.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Cayde glanced up. There was something resolute in his expression that chilled Zavala to the bone.

“Well, you can stop fretting over me, for one,” he chided. “Second, well,” he held out what looked to be an ordinary playing card, “this is what I called you here for.”

Zavala took it, turning the card over in his hand to reveal the King of Hearts. For a thing made of paper, he wondered why it felt so heavy.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Cayde nodded.

“I sort of have a system—not a perfect one, mind you, but it’s all I’ve got.”

The Exo closed the deck box, placing it gently on his bedside table

“These playing cards represent certain memories, so that even when my mind gets shuffled, I have a way of drawing them back again. What I need you to do is, hold on to that card,” he said, staring hard at the floor, “and after this is all over, I want you to return it to me. There’s a real good chance I’ll be able to figure out what it means.”

After this is over? As in after being rebooted? Zavala was speechless.

“If it doesn’t make any sense to me, well,” Cayde threw up his hands, “at least you’ll know I tried.”

He just kept talking, faster and faster, like he couldn’t stand to stop.

“I’ve left a few notes for myself, but more often than not, those don’t help. It just feels like I’m reading someone else’s autobiography—doesn’t really get the point across. Who knows, though, maybe someday I’ll write to you. That happens-”

“Cayde, that’s enough,” he shouted. The Hunter looked affronted, but Zavala couldn’t stand seeing such a stubborn, clever Guardian succumb to despair.

“Why are you behaving as if you’ve already lost this battle?”

“Battle?” Cayde choked out a laugh, “I can’t fight this, big guy. I have to face the music. Part of Cayde-6 will still be buried somewhere in Cayde-7.” He shrugged. “Maybe you’ll find a piece of me again someday.”

The bitterness in his voice was driving Zavala crazy. On one hand, he was devastated on Cayde's behalf, but on the other, he was furious with this defeatist attitude. Facing the window above the map-cluttered desk, he crossed his arms.

“Cayde, think hard about what you want. Do you want to be rebooted?”

“Zavala,” Cayde growled, on the verge of lashing out, “I'm trying to be patient with you, here, because you don't understand this stuff. But listen,” he stood up, “no Exo wants to be rebooted. That's like asking a dying man if he wants to have his legs cut off to save his own life. Does he wanna live? Sure, but that doesn't mean he wants to lose his legs—it's a necessity,” Cayde stammered. “It's a last resort.”

“But is it truly your only course of action?”

Cayde's eyes flared as he jabbed a finger at Zavala.

“Look, just because you want there to be an easy answer doesn't mean one exists,” he hollered. “That's not how this stuff works, Zavala.”

He was radiating anger as he turned away.

“I'm already on the fifth stage of grief, here. Catch up whenever it suits you.”

After surviving the loss of his Light and his city, Zavala didn't know it was possible for his heart to break any further, but here it was—shattering into pieces too small to ever recover.

“I apologize,” Zavala sighed, turning from the window to look at Cayde. “I was so absorbed with trying to solve this problem, it never occurred to me that you had already accepted your fate. To burden you further was not my intent.”

Cayde was still fuming, and Zavala realized he was being selfish again.

“Perhaps this is just my only way of coping—to fight tooth and nail for what is precious to me,” the Titan admitted, as he stepped forward. “And make no mistake, I will fight for you, Cayde, if that is what you want. You are irreplaceable; the Vanguard and the City need you.”

Zavala placed a careful hand on Cayde's shoulder guard, gentle but firm—looked him in the eyes.

“I need you.”

A crackle of static leapt from Cayde's mouth, a pained sound.

“C’mon, don’t say that,” he croaked. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

Testing the water, Zavala stepped just a bit closer. He wanted nothing more than to embrace Cayde—to somehow shield him from this slow undoing. The fact that he expected Zavala to just stand by and watch while his mind wasted away was unbearable.

“If you could have anything you wanted, right now,” he pleaded, “If there was a way to save Cayde-6, would you-”

“Yes, of course I would,” was Cayde's unwavering answer. “Big Blue, I don’t wanna go.”

That was all he needed to hear.

“Then I won’t let you.”

Without further hesitation, the Titan leaned in for a kiss. Cayde seemed to melt into him, Solar heat erupting, running fast over Zavala's body in sweltering waves. He could somehow taste Cayde's desperation where it clashed with his own. He wanted this forever, but he would take it for as long as he could—the phantom of flesh lips and metal, melding into one. Pressing close, Cayde broke the kiss for a moment, pawing at the Titan’s enormous pauldrons.

“What say you take this heavy armor off, stay awhile?” He murmured, those phantom hands appearing on the small of Zavala's back with a gentle caress.

In short order, Zavala began to transmat each plate of armor away, piece by piece, until his undersuit was all that remained. To his surprise, Cayde followed his example, until he was left in an undershirt and briefs, even going so far as to remove his cloak. Without that trademark, he looked all the more vulnerable.

“I've been wondering,” Zavala ventured, still feeling two pairs of hands on him, “how does it work?”

“Oh, this?” On cue, the ghostly hands slid up and down the Titan’s sides. “Hard to say, exactly, seeing as how no one alive understands how it works, but that's how we do it—it's a sort of psionic joining. We don't have any ‘external parts’, so,” Cayde trailed off, laughing. “I mean, we can strap it on, but the mind-meld thing is just way less hassle.”

Zavala hummed appreciatively as the touch began to move again, skittering across his stomach.

“It does seem to present certain,” his breath hitched, “advantages.”

Cayde chuckled.

“That's the transhuman experience, baby.”

He looked at Cayde with the light of stars in his eyes, and a smile on his faintly glowing lips.

“Indeed.”

This time, Cayde took the initiative, crushing their lips together as he guided Zavala away from the bed and towards the wall by the door. Zavala was so consumed by the Solar fire of phantom lips, that he didn’t realize he was being shepherded across the room until his back connected with the wall, and the Exo crowded in all the closer.

Psionic hands were tracing circles on Zavala’s hips while Cayde’s own hands fondled the Titan’s chest through the thick undersuit. It was all but overwhelming. Zavala could only glow brighter and brighter as he lost himself in the kiss, placing his hands along Cayde’s jawline, just to keep him there. He could feel a rumbling laugh through the Hunter’s lips as he pulled back an inch, blinking at Zavala.

“You're so gentle,” he marveled, “I can't get over it.”

Zavala's eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Am I not what you were expecting?”

“Guess I wasn't sure what to expect,” Cayde admitted, grinding his thigh up between Zavala's legs, “but anyone who's seen you fight sure wouldn't recognize you now.”

The Titan dropped his head back against the wall, relishing that pressure.

“Blame it on my nature,” he sighed into the crook of Cayde's neck. “First and foremost, I just want to protect you."

The Hunter scoffed.

“Zavala, I'm not piece of glass, y’know.”

“I didn't say the instinct was rational,” he protested, his tone somewhat defensive.

Cayde barked a laugh, taking a firm hold of the zipper that started at the waist of the Titan’s undersuit.

“Fair enough.”

Without breaking Zavala’s gaze, Cayde pulled the zipper down as he descended to the floor on his knees, reaching his other arm up behind Zavala’s thigh to steady himself. Slowly, he spread open the fly of the undersuit, asking silent permission with hooded eyes.

“Would you,” Zavala gulped, mouth going utterly dry at the feeling of heat from Cayde’s mouth near his erection. “Would you like to-”

“Oh, yes please,” Cayde sighed, reverently, reaching into the suit and taking Zavala's bare length in hand. He stifled a groan as fingers of smooth, warm metal and silicone enveloped him. There could be no sensation in the universe better than this.

“It's official,” Cayde mused, a small tube of lubricant materializing in his left hand via transmat, “every single part of you is gorgeous.” The Exo used his mouth to remove the cap from the tube, and quickly applied some of the gel to his other hand. He worked it up and down Zavala’s length with firm, even strokes, before tossing the tube onto the bedspread.

It was so much, for the first time in so long. Zavala pressed both hands flat against the wall to keep himself from tearing at Cayde for dear life. The Exo seemed to sense this inner conflict, and paused to tease him again.

“Still such a gentleman? Does your chivalry know no bounds?”

“Are you testing my limits on purpose?” The Titan gasped, sweat beading at his temples as he was reduced to putty in Cayde's hands.

“No, no—you just keep surprising me. Do what makes you comfortable, but I'll let you in on a little secret,” Cayde winked, peeling one large blue hand from the wall and wrapping it firmly around the back of his own neck. He looked up into Zavala's eyes.

“I really, really like it rough.”

Without further ado, Cayde took Zavala into his mouth, and his whole world tilted on its axis. There was wet heat, dry heat, flesh lips, metal lips, all these sensations converging on Zavala’s cock, and he had to cry out. Lubricant slid across metal and silicone as Cayde bobbed in and out, painfully slow, his hands gripping both of Zavala’s thighs as that psionic touch fondled where his mouth couldn’t reach.

It was a wonder Zavala didn’t come then and there. Breath heaving, he remembered Cayde’s request. It wasn’t the sort of thing he had any experience with, but the least he could do was improvise. He tightened his grip on the Exo’s neck so that Cayde could no longer move his head, and instead bucked up into his mouth. Cayde let out a deeply satisfied moan, grasping harder at Zavala’s legs in encouragement. Growing bolder, Zavala was soon fucking Cayde’s mouth with wild abandon, lost in the way Cayde’s hands were stroking up and down his thighs, caressing his ass, all the while those ghostly sensations kept pressure on the base of his cock.

“Cayde,” he growled, “Cayde, I can’t, I’m going to-”

All of it was beyond divine, but when push came to shove, it was Cayde’s utterly delighted moans that made him come—the bright flash of his blue skin lighting the room. The excess of his orgasm ran freely from the gaps in the Exo’s jaw, as Cayde swallowed the rest without shame. The phantom sensation of a tongue pressed firmly on the underside of Zavala’s cock, as he rode out the aftershocks of his climax. With one final caress down the length of his legs, Cayde released him, wiping his mouth on the collar of his t-shirt with unadulterated lust in his eyes. Zavala couldn’t catch his breath.

“How about that?” Cayde snorted, “The Commander knows how to let loose after all.”

Another challenge? That smart mouth was going to be the death of him.

Zavala knelt down and scooped Cayde into his arms in the blink of an eye, eliciting a yelp from the Exo.

“Every time,” he cried, throwing his arms around Zavala’s neck. “I short circuit every time you do that. It’s so good—you’re so good,” he rambled, as the Titan carried him over to the bed. Zavala arranged him across the mattress so his legs would hang over the side, positioning himself right between them. Cayde instantly bucked up into him, gripping Zavala’s hips with his thighs.

“I take it you want more?” Zavala goaded, unsnapping the collar of his suit and unzipping it to the waist.

“Oh, you know I do,” Cayde sang, reaching up to stroke Zavala’s bare chest.

“Then you’re going to get me,” he growled, sliding his hands up underneath Cayde’s briefs, clutching his thighs, “so how do you want me?”

In lieu of words, Cayde made a needy sound, blindly grabbing for the tube of lubricant where it lay on the sheets. When he caught hold of it, he pulled his legs off of Zavala and shimmied out of his briefs as fast as possible. The inguen joining of the Exo’s legs was more smooth metal beneath silicone skin, upon which Cayde promptly slathered copious amounts of lubricant. Satisfied with this, he pressed his thighs together and drew Zavala forward.

“Let’s try it like this,” he offered, and Zavala anchored his left arm on Cayde’s shoulder, pinning him to the bed as he wrapped another strong arm around the bundle of the Exo’s knees. Astounded he was already hard again, he slowly teased the head of his erection against the crux of Cayde’s wet thighs. Cayde raised his hips with a whimper.

“Don’t play me like this, Zavala, just fuck me,” the Hunter whined. “I want it as hard as you can give it.”

Zavala acknowledged Cayde’s plea with a smirk, easing his cock between the Exo’s impressive thighs.

“Oh,” he gasped, devastated by that tight, wet heat. “Cayde, this is-”

“Yeah,” Cayde groaned, “trust me, I’m feeling it. C’mon, Big Blue—let me have it.”

“So impatient,” he scolded, easing himself back out before plunging back in with a forceful snap of his hips. The heat of him was intoxicating. Cayde's body was like sun-warmed stone—a hot desert wind, heralding rain. Zavala wanted to bask in that heat—withdraw from the world, and worship this man for the rest of his days.

“Harder,” Cayde begged. “Just like that—fuck-”

The Titan worked himself up to a ruthless pace, slapping loudly against Cayde’s ass with every thrust. He relished the feeling of the electric tendons in the Cayde's legs quivering beneath his grasp.

“Oh, fuck, Zavala,” he hissed, “Zavala, please, I'm-”

“Cayde,” he growled, earning a keening reply as Cayde's legs locked tighter and his back arched up sharply off the bed, before going boneless. The psionic force of Cayde’s climax rebounded into Zavala, and it only took a few more of thrusts before he was spilling himself across Cayde’s undershirt.

Before he lost all strength, he lifted Cayde’s limp legs once more, swinging them up onto the bed so he could lay down properly. Satisfied, Zavala peeled the soiled t-shirt off of the sated Hunter, and promptly collapsed on top of his chest.

Cayde just basked in the afterglow for a moment, before resting his hands on Zavala’s back.

“Holy shit, that was,” he chuckled, “wow. Remind me again why we haven't ever done that before?”

Zavala was both exasperated and overwhelmed with fondness all at once. He pressed his smiling face to Cayde's chest.

“Zavala, are you, by any chance, a cuddler?”

Even after all that, Cayde couldn’t resist poking fun at him.

“Would that be a problem?” His smile only grew wider. “Why don't you find out for yourself?”

Cayde laughed.

“I am the luckiest man ever to exist.”

Zavala tilted his head up to look at Cayde.

“Why lucky?”

“Well, look at you,” the Exo exclaimed, with pure adoration. “Most folks only know the Zavala on the surface—brave, strong, stubborn—but I get to see this beautiful side of you that so few people know about. And that smile,” he trailed off, hiding his face behind his arm.

The Titan felt distinctly shy under all this praise, but Cayde didn’t let up.

“I'm just saying, everyone who’s ever passed up getting to know you is an idiot, and I’m so glad I got the chance before I-”

“Cayde.”

“This is just gonna make it hurt worse, y’know,” Cayde muttered, so sullenly as to give Zavala whiplash. “It’ll only get harder on you from here on out.”

Zavala reached up to caress Cayde’s cheek, pressing a light kiss to his chest.

“This threat may seem insurmountable now, but Cayde,” Zavala reminded him, “you and I are Guardians—we defy death itself everyday. We may yet find a way to defy this, too.”

The Hunter hummed his approval, then again with curiosity.

“How are you two gonna keep the Consensus off my ass until I fix my head?” He snorted, as if it were a laughing matter. Right now, Zavala refused to acknowledge the political uproar he would no doubt be facing in the morning.

“Suffice to say I’ll stand by you, come what may.”

“My hero,” Cayde crooned, with less irony than perhaps was intended.

Zavala drifted off to sleep, pondering the playing card he’d left in the care of his Ghost.

The King of Hearts.

 

つづく

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this fic went from T to E in just five chapters, I was not expecting that. I guess my only lore note this time around is that Exos don't seem to have dicks? Whatever, Bungie—no dicks, no problem, that's my motto. It isn't, really. Well, it could be.
> 
> Anyway, tweet me [@leaux_wren](https://twitter.com/leaux_wren) if you wanna yell about this ship in public.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For no particular reason, I'm gonna take this opportunity to assure everybody this fic will have a happy ending.

Panic lanced through Zavala as he was startled from sleep by a vice-like grip around his neck, pushing him up off the bed. Arc energy rushed to his fingertips as he clawed at the assailing arm, but he stopped short when he realized who that arm belonged to.

“Cayde?” He rasped, remembering where he was, his stomach lurching as he stared down into a pair of blood-red Exo optics. Was this a dream? There was no recognition there—no familiar, blue spark of mischief. Thinking quickly, Zavala tensed his shoulders, braced a knee against Cayde’s side, and threw all his weight into rolling them off of the bed. As his back hit the floor, it seemed to give Cayde’s arm enough of a jolt that he loosened his grip, allowing Zavala to peel the hand off his throat. Without giving him time to react, Zavala struck him square across the jaw with a fistfull of lightning, kicking him clear before jumping to his feet.

“Cayde,” he shouted, panting, zipping and snapping his suit at the collar with his Ghost on the assist, restoring the rest of his armor. “Cayde, can you hear me?”

Still naked, Cayde sat in the corner by the cluttered desk, holding his jaw while his eyes seemed to flicker in and out of standby. Zavala approached slowly, hand outstretched, reminiscent of the manner in which Saladin behaved with wild wolves—cornered predators.

“Cayde, please. I need to know if you can hear me.”

Standing there, waiting for Cayde to say something, anything, Zavala’s mind was consumed with fear that they were already out of time. He couldn’t breathe.

Blue optics blinked up at him.

“Zavala?” Cayde muttered, sounding groggy. “Why does it feel like I took an Arc grenade to the face? And what am I doing on the floor?”

Letting out an enormous sigh of relief, Zavala braced his hands on his knees, and allowed himself a moment to catch his breath.

“I take it you don’t remember the past sixty seconds or so?” He asked, aiming for a casual tone, but landing somewhere south of it.

Cayde narrowed his eyes, wobbling as he got to his feet.

“I just woke up, naked on the floor, with a righteous headache, and you’re standing there giving me a pop quiz. Did I miss something?”

It was going to be a very, very long day.

“Zavala,” Cayde pried, sounding nervous now, “did something happen?”

The Titan sat down on the bed.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but the truth of the matter is,” he trailed off. Dread was crawling up his throat, choking his words.

“Just tell me,” Cayde demanded, dressing himself in a flash, via transmat.

“Cayde, you,” Zavala looked up. “You attacked me.”

The Hunter froze.

“When I woke up, you had a hand around my throat, only you-”

“I what?” Cayde gasped in shock, leaning on the edge of the desk for support.

“When I called your name, you did not seem to recognize me. I apologize for striking you—I could think of no other way to disengage.”

“No way,” Cayde’s legs seemed to give out, and he slid back down to the floor against the wall. He looked utterly petrified, unable to meet Zavala’s gaze.

“There’s no way.”

There was half a minute of silence, broken only by the sound of birds, their shadows flitting through the beams of early morning sunlight.

“Did I hurt you?” Cayde whispered, voice trembling.

Traveler above, how was Zavala going to survive this?

“No, Cayde, I’m fine. Please don’t worry about me.”

The Exo’s eyes were wide with shock, boring holes into the floor.

“Don’t worry? Ha, right,” he snarled, his tone becoming manic. “I just tried to strangle you in your sleep, Zavala, exactly what part of that is no big deal?”

The Titan stood up. He had to do something to comfort Cayde—to stop this from spiraling further out of control.

“You’re not to blame—you clearly were not yourself.”

“Oh? Well, who was I, then?”

Zavala knelt down in front of him, reaching out, but Cayde flinched away.

“Don’t come near me, dammit,” he cried. “Zavala, I can’t trust myself—you can’t trust me.”

“Cayde,” he scolded, reaching out again, “you need to calm down. We need to stop and think this through.”

He touched Cayde’s cheek, and though the Exo tensed, he soon leaned into the touch, grasping that hand for dear life.

“Zavala, I’m losing it,” he wimpered, closing his eyes.

The Titan gently lifted him off the floor, carrying him back to the bed.

“You need to rest. We’re going to figure this out,” Zavala reassured him, laying him down on the sheets.

“I don't wanna hurt you. I wouldn't—couldn’t stand it,” he pleaded. “You gotta believe me.”

“Cayde, I do believe you.” Zavala took his hand, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I looked into your eyes, and I didn’t see you there. You weren’t in control.”

The Hunter made a sobbing sound.

“Zavala, you're the King of Hearts.”

The abrupt shift caught Zavala off guard. Was the Hunter’s mind drifting again?

“Yes, I remember,” he replied, soft and patient. “But Cayde, what exactly does that mean?”

Cayde nodded vacantly, giving the Titan’s hand one last squeeze before his arm fell limp onto the bed.

“Means I love you.”

A fist closed tight around Zavala’s heart as the light in Cayde’s eyes blinked out. In the centuries since his reincarnation, Zavala had died countless times—brutal, agonizing deaths.

This hurt so much worse.

_“...you're the King of Hearts.”_

Though reckless of him, he commanded his Ghost to stand watch by Cayde's bedside while he went to fetch Ikora. He knew he would not be able to leave Cayde's room at this hour without someone seeing him, but there was precious little time to be concerned with appearances.

_“Means I love you.”_

Zavala stormed out of the barracks towards the bazaar. When he got to Ikora’s post, only to find she wasn't there, his mind locked up. Everything ground to a halt.

_“...I love you.”_

The distinctive call of a bird of prey broke his fugue.

“Morning, Commander,” Hawthorne called down from her perch, Louis landing gracefully beside her. “If you're looking for Ikora, she already ran off looking for you.”

Zavala nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. His legs carried him towards the courtyard.

When he came to the stairs beside Banshee’s armory, he heard an almighty racket coming from the upper level—someone was shouting.

“Put your bloody backs into it, Redjacks, we haven't got all day.”

Zavala turned on his heel and sprinted up the stairs to see Shaxx, running his Frames ragged, setting up a station for the Iron Banner.

Oh, of all the days.

He forgot that, on top everything, Saladin would be arriving that evening. The Master of the Crucible caught sight of him and waved him over.

“What do you think, Zavala?” He asked, obviously nervous, “Is this pageantry worthy of that stubborn old wolf?”

It seemed a touch extravagant at first glance, but Zavala hardly had the time to argue.

“I'm sure this is fine, Shaxx, no need to overdo it.”

Shaxx shook his head.

“I know, but this time, I really want to make a strong impression. Spotless arenas, all the accommodations. It's a new Tower, and a new Crucible.”

He bounced on his heels.

“I'm gonna rub it in the the old man's face,” he said, punctuated with a booming laugh. “He's going to regret underestimating me.”

Zavala could feel a headache coming on.

“Very good, Shaxx. Keep things to a dull roar, if you can.”

The man just laughed again, then had some epiphany. He pointed an accusatory finger at Zavala.

“Speaking of just desserts—Zavala, where have you been hiding Cayde?”

_“...King of Hearts.”_

“I beg your pardon?”

Hands on his hips, Shaxx tilted his head dubiously.

“Playing coy, eh? Well, if you see him, remind him he owes me for our recent wager—I haven't forgotten.”

Zavala blinked.

“You and Cayde still make bets with each other? I would have thought that, after the dodgeball incident-”

“I know, I know. All the more reason I won't let him escape my sweet revenge.” Shaxx waved him off. “Anyway, I'm sure you're busy,” he conceded, “I'll try not to distract you with all this.”

The Titan Vanguard nodded.

As soon as he was down the stairs, he could see Ikora waiting for him at his post, and even from this distance, he could tell she was furious about something. Walking out to the overlook, he stopped to inform the guards that he was not to be disturbed until Ikora left.

“Zavala,” she greeted him with a terse nod, arms folded tight.

“Ikora,” he replied, willing himself to be calm—remain calm and talk this through.

“You went to check on Cayde last night, yes?”

Zavala nodded, hands clasped behind his back.

“You said you would contact me if there were any developments,” she continued, “but not only did you not contact me, you put yourself out of communication altogether.”

He what? Had Ikora tried to contact him last night? But he would have noticed, would have heard his Ghost when-

Unless his Ghost had taken the liberty of ensuring he would not be disturbed? They would need to have an unpleasant discussion about that, later.

“Ikora, I did not intend-”

“I couldn't open a channel to your Ghost—couldn't reach you, Zavala, I was worried sick,” she chastised. “But then I realized, if there was a true emergency, you would never put yourself out of reach. There must have been another reason your Ghost ensured your privacy.”

His eyes widened, ears lit with embarrassment. The curiosity of Warlocks was a fearsome thing indeed. That was it, then.

“Ikora?”

“I'm not mad about it, not really,” she sighed. “But you two could not have picked a worse time to come to your senses about all this.”

“Come to our senses?” He balked. She had some nerve, dressing him down so thoroughly.

“And I need to know you're going to be objective about this when it comes time to decide what has to be done.”

_“Means I love you.”_

Zavala closed his eyes—took a deep breath.

“Ikora, whatever my relationship with Cayde, it does not change the fact that we're a team.” He fixed her with a hard stare, “Do you mean to tell me you feel nothing for him—that you aren't acting on emotion just as much as I am?”

Now it was her turn to look sheepish.

“Zavala, you know I care about him, too.”

The Titan nodded, turning to place both hands on the railing overlooking the city.

“He is very unwell, Ikora,” he said, glancing up at the Traveler as if it might have answers for him. “Something has to be done. Today.”

Ikora came to stand beside him. 

“What happened?” She asked, serene clouds floating across the sky behind her, adrift in the endless blue. Calm.

He took a deep breath—had to say it out loud.

“For a moment, he was not himself,” he sighed. “Ikora, he attacked me.”

She was speechless in her disbelief.

“I had to strike him, but he came to his senses. He seemed exhausted, afterwards—went into standby again, only this time-”

“This time?”

_“...love you.”_

“He gave me the impression he did not think he would be waking up again.” He tried not to envision Cayde lying on the bed, suffering alone. “I ran to find you straight away.”

Ikora put a hand on his arm, as if to offer some condolence. It almost helped.

“Well, there was a reason I was trying to get in touch last night—I might just have a lead.”

Zavala stood up straight, away from the railing. He tried to temper his hopes.

“Let's hear it.”

“It's definitely a reach,” she admitted. “I've had to call in a favor with one Petra Venj.”

Zavala was blindsided. A reach, indeed.

“The Regent-Commander of the Reef? What do the Awoken have to offer that would be of any use to Cayde?”

She shook her head.

“Not to Cayde,” Ikora corrected, “to you.”

Now Zavala was even more confused, as well as a little uncomfortable. He was reincarnated on Earth, after all, and had never felt at ease in the company of the Reefborn Awoken.

“What favor was this, anyhow?”

Ikora smiled.

“Oh, it was Cayde's favor,” she chuckled. “The Regent-Commander had endless praise for the ‘brilliant tactician’ who landed a Guardian on the Taken King’s Dreadnaught.”

The Titan sighed.

“Of course she did.”

Suddenly, he was aware of raised voices behind them, and turned to see Amanda Holliday arguing with the guards.

“It's alright, you may let her pass,” he yelled over the din, and they fell silent, standing back while the shipwright walked on by.

“Sorry, Commander,” she looked harried, “but I needed to speak with the two of you, and well, here you both are.”

Ikora greeted her urgency with composure.

“What's wrong, Amanda?”

The shipwright crowded in closer, as if anyone could hear them where they stood.

“Well, Cayde's been MIA for a whole day, now, and his scouts are startin’ to worry.” She crossed her arms. “I've been startin’ to worry, myself,” she confessed, “but that's not the worst part.”

Zavala had a sinking feeling he knew what she was going to say.

“What is it?”

Again, she did a double-take, looking to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

“I saw Jalaal having a real long chat with some New Monarchy folks. Made no secret they were talkin’ about Cayde, they kept pointing over at his hangout. Then, they all went upstairs to see Lakshmi.”

Ikora cursed under her breath.

“Wonderful,” she turned to Zavala. “Guess that means our time is up.”

Amanda stared at her, wide-eyed with nerves.

“What's that mean? Is there really something wrong with Cayde?”

Zavala couldn't bear the crestfallen look on her face. She and Cayde were close—she deserved to know.

“Cayde has been suffering from memory corruption.”

She stifled a gasp with both hands, tears shining in her eyes.

“How long does he have?”

Ikora and Zavala shared a look.

“He’s running short on time,” Ikora acknowledged, “but we’ve still got a few tricks up our sleeves. We haven’t given up on him just yet.”

Amanda choked back a sob, steadying herself with hand on each of their shoulders. After a moment of silence, she made every effort to collect herself.

“You let me know the exact second you two need any help from me, you hear?” She sniffed, smiling her brightest. “I’m not gonna let him punch a new ticket without at least saying goodbye to me.”

“Of course,” Zavala nodded, smiling as he placed a hand over hers in reassurance. “We may yet have need of that tenacious spirit of yours, before this is through.”

Ikora nodded her agreement.

“Thank you for bringing the Consensus to our attention, Amanda. Let Cayde’s scouts know they can take the day off. I’m sure some will begin to suspect the cause, but tell them not to worry.”

Amanda bounced away a few steps, with an easy salute.

“You got it, bosses.”

As she jogged away, she did not stop running. It was incredible the myriad ways in which the strength of mortal humans far exceeded that of Guardians—Amanda Holliday and Suraya Hawthorne were both living proof.

Before Ikora and Zavala could discuss their plans any further, Ikora’s Ghost chimed in to say she’d received a message. She pulled out a small data pad.

“Well they work fast. The Consensus just called an emergency meeting,” she groaned, scrolling through what looked to be quite the lengthy missive. “What’s our play, here, Zavala?”

He considered their options.

“How soon can your plan be mobilized?”

Ikora paused to check the time.

“We have at least another hour before my counsel from the Reef is scheduled to arrive.”

Zavala presumed there would be a spare moment later for Ikora to actually explain her plan.

“There is no reasonable way to delay an emergency meeting for an hour,” he conceded, “which means we parlay with them until adjourning to meet your contact.”

She nodded, deep in thought.

“How much of the truth should we let on?”

No matter how they proceeded, politics with the Consensus was always a gamble—without the moderating voice of the Speaker, the risk of things getting ugly was greater than ever. When it came to this particular matter, Zavala could guess that there was no partial truth which the Consensus would find palatable.

“They won’t like what we have to say, regardless of how much we choose to reveal. I say we tell them the whole truth,” he sighed, “that Cayde’s memory corruption has left him indisposed, and we are doing everything in our power to restore him.”

Ikora looked dubious.

“Be prepared for the worst.”

“Oh, believe me,” he replied, through gritted teeth, “I am.”

As they marched through the bazaar to the appointed meeting room, Ikora received a secret communication on her datapad from Lakshmi-2. She laughed bitterly as she read the message to herself.

“She wants us to know that she did nothing to break our trust—Hideo and Jalaal found out something was amiss with Cayde through alternate means.”

Of course, now that the Consensus was involved, it did not matter whether Lakshmi told the whole Tower—everyone would know by sundown.

The second the door to the meeting room opened, the small uproar within fell silent. Arach Jalaal looked as if he’d swallowed pure ether, Lakshmi was was aloof, and Executor Hideo’s expression was helplessly torn between deference and disapproval.

“Greetings, all,” Ikora addressed the room, “I see you’ve started without us.”

Jalaal glowered.

“It does not surprise me to see the Vanguard arrives a member short,” he sneered, “as this meeting was called for one purpose—to find out what has become of Cayde-6.”

Zavala tensed—took a deep, calming breath.

The three faction leaders stood around one half of a wide, circular table, leaving the other half open for the Vanguard. As Zavala and Ikora approached, Hideo steepled his fingers.

“I trust the two of you will be able to shed light on the Hunter Vanguard’s recent disappearance?”

Ikora smiled.

“We've hardly stashed him in a locker somewhere.”

None of them found that humorous.

“And we should clarify that, despite his reputation, Cayde has not fled the Tower,” Zavala added, placing both hands on the table.

Lakshmi tilted her head.

“Enlighten us, then, Commander—where is our illustrious Vanguard Scout?”

Zavala couldn't help but glare at her, though he should have expected her to play ignorant to Cayde's condition.

“Cayde has been experiencing memory corruption. He is currently resting in his quarters.”

A tense quiet took the room.

“Forgive me, but I'm not well-versed in matters of Exo physiology, if you will,” Hideo broached, voice dripping with disdain. “What exactly does that mean?”

“It means he will have to be rebooted soon,” Lakshmi explained, frank and to the point. “He must become Cayde-7, or his mind will cease to function, or worse,” she whispered, “he may become violent.”

Zavala felt the finger-shaped bruises on his neck twinge sharply as she spoke.

_“I don't wanna hurt you…”_

“This is outrageous,” Jalaal groused, “why wasn't this brought to our attention immediately? The Vanguard cannot show weakness in the wake of our great victory. The Red War is not over.”

“And if this sort of monumental failing is commonplace, perhaps we should discuss the viability of having an Exo Vanguard in the first place,” whined Hideo, unsympathetic as ever.

Miserable bigot.

“I take exception,” Lakshmi interjected, “to the idea that only Exos are susceptible to such extenuating circumstances. We have our unique afflictions, yes, but that is not so different from the rest of you. Humanity has grappled with illness for the majority of its existence.”

Hideo now looked thoroughly browbeaten.

“The real issue at hand,” she continued, “is how the Vanguard will proceed in nominating Cayde's replacement.”

For a moment, Zavala could only hear static.

“We request a stay of reappointment for the Hunter Vanguard position,” Ikora put forth, “on the grounds that we may yet be able to help Cayde recover.”

Lakshmi made a strange sound—like a sigh, a condescending expression of pity.

“With all due respect, this is not something you can simply wish away. It is a fact of life for Exos—our minds aren't always able to cope, and the Guardians among us are especially vulnerable.”

Ikora doubled-down.

“I acknowledge that what we're attempting is unprecedented, but we are asking for more time—even just one more day, to try and help Cayde.”

“Did you not hear her?” Jalaal cried. “There's nothing to be done for him. We cannot allow the leadership of this city to be compromised in the middle of a war.”

Zavala could take no more of this. Somehow, he had to make them understand.

“Letting doubt and fear control our decisions will freeze us in place. The Traveler granted humanity a second chance, and we should follow its example. I would see humanity regain lost ambitions—reach for the stars again,” he slammed a fist on the table, “and I will not usher in a new Golden Age by turning my back on one of our most trusted comrades.”

Stunned by his outburst, the faction leaders fell silent. Lakshmi’s eyes twinkled with a smile.

Ikora stepped in.

“All we need is one more day,” she bargained. “After everything Cayde did to help take back our city, we owe him that much.”

Jalaal sighed.

“The arrogance of the Vanguard, making decisions like this behind our backs,” he grunted, shaking his head. “Out of respect for Cayde-6, I will accept your proposal. But make no mistake, we will reconvene tomorrow, and see what comes of this.”

Hideo and Lakshmi both nodded their assent.

“That is acceptable,” the Exo said, voice still laced with pity.

Ikora sighed with relief—Zavala wished he felt any.

“Thank you all for your understanding,” she said. “We’ll contact you as soon as we have news.”

Zavala was first out the door. He needed air—needed space. There was something coming loose in his mind, like unspooling thread. He looked up into the blue sky, taking several more deep breaths. It was unacceptable. He couldn't afford to lose his composure, no matter how compromised he was by his personal feelings. He had struggled to remain calm during that meeting, when all he could think about was Cayde's face as he fell away into unconsciousness.

_“Means I love you.”_

There came a hand on his arm.

“We should move,” Ikora rallied him, “let's go visit Cayde. Amanda is going to escort my contact to his room when she arrives.”

Zavala nodded, his body on autopilot. He had seldom felt this helpless. It was like losing his light all over again.

Cayde’s Ghost opened the door for them when they arrived, and found Cayde on the bed, exactly as Zavala left him. Offline. Catatonic.

_“...love you.”_

Zavala strode over to the desk chair and pulled it out, collapsing into it, resting his hands on his knees. No time to lose control. No time.

“Zavala,” Ikora pleaded, “you're not alone in this—you can tell me what you're thinking. I can see this is tearing you apart.” She gently stacked and folded the piles of maps on Cayde's desk before perching on top of it. After a moment of thought, she chucked.

“It's a surprise, you know, that you two finally sorted out your feelings.”

Zavala sighed. Nothing felt sorted out at all.

“I never expected this to happen,” he confessed. “The threat of losing Cayde revealed what he meant to me, only that threat never went away—it merely changed form.”

Ikora hummed.

“He’s lucky to have you, Zavala,” she assured him. “It takes a dedicated person to be able to stand by someone through a trial like this.”

As if Cayde deserved anything less.

“I would never abandon him when he needs me most,” he scoffed. The very idea was appalling.

“You say that like it’s easy,” Ikora shrugged, “but that’s what makes you strong.”

Her ghost chimed, and Amanda’s voice came through.

“Got your visitor here, Ikora. We’re on our way to meet you.”

The Warlock hopped down from the desk.

“Understood, Amanda.”

"Oh, and Commander?" She hesitated, "Lord Saladin was asking after you."

"Of course he was," Zavala grunted. "Thank you, Amanda, for notifying me."

“Happy to help. Holliday out.”

As the channel clicked off, Zavala couldn’t contain his nerves any longer.

“What exactly is your guest here to do, Ikora?”

She considered him for a moment, her gaze lingering on the faint glow of his skin—the light of his eyes.

“There is an affinity for wielding Light inherent in Awoken physiology, and the Awoken of the Reef have found a way of using that talent to manipulate technology. I wondered if it might be used to interface with the consciousness of an Exo.” She smiled, walking over to the door. “Now that I understand the depth of your bond with Cayde, that might not be as big of a reach as I feared.”

The door chimed, and in walked Amanda, followed by an Awoken woman in a long, black robe, with an ornate visor covering her eyes. Zavala stood.

“Zavala, I’d like you to meet Portia,” Ikora introduced the hooded woman, “one of few remaining Techuen of the Reef.”

A Tech Witch—one of the Queen’s inner circle. The woman nodded to Zavala in greeting, her nose and mouth the only parts of her face that were visible beneath her shroud.

“We share the same Mother and Father—brother, in the blood of Light and Darkness.”

Ah, the indecipherable jargon of the Reefborn. Zavala was in no way prepared for this. Thankfully, Ikora spoke instead.

“I believe that Techeun wisdom might be the key to bridging the mind of an Awoken with that of an Exo.”

Portia hovered by Cayde’s bedside for a moment, before recoiling away.

“Suspended in a memory—an eternal Collapse.” Her whole body shuddered. “Death would be a kinder fate than this.”

Zavala fought back a grimace, trying not to dwell on how much Cayde was suffering, and the witch turned her shaded gaze to him.

“There,” she whispered, tracing some invisible line through the air with a finger. “Your bond is faint, but I can see it—give it strength, and it will tether his mind to your starlight.”

She held out a quavering hand in a fist, and urged Zavala forward. He held out his hand, and felt something warm and smooth drop into his palm.

“This was recovered from the wreckage of the Battle of Saturn. It belonged to one of my coven sisters.” He examined the small stone—a jewel-like egg of sparkling blue. “I have primed it over the course of my journey here, and it will amplify the starlight you were born with.”

She paused to breathe deeply of the space between them.

“The blessing of your Traveler occludes it, but I can tell—yours is very bright indeed.”

That quavering hand reached out to him again.

“Could you be Firstborn?” She whispered, disbelieving.

Zavala drew back, struck by a sudden shiver along his spine.

“I have no way of knowing," he muttered. "I can scarcely remember my resurrection.” That was a lie, which was a pointless defense when he was arguing with a telepath. Still, she did not press him.

“I am weary from my travels,” she said to Amanda. “Is there somewhere I might rest until I’m needed further?”

Amanda turned to looked to Ikora, who nodded.

“Right this way,” the shipwright guided Portia out the door, eyeing Zavala as she whispered, “good luck.”

The door closed.

Palming the strange, blue stone, Zavala turned to Ikora.

“How did you come up with all this?”

She looked rather proud of herself.

“It was something Lakshmi said—that Exos had psionic capabilities. That connection was meant to be initiated by the Exo, but I wondered if there might be a way to bypass that, and reach an Exo from the outside, instead.”

The Warlock stepped closer, peering at the stone with hungry, curious eyes.

“Then I remembered the stories about the Queen’s Techuen, and the reports that they were able to wield an ancient weapon with nothing but the might of their own Light—not the Light of the Traveler, but pure, Awoken fury.”

She beamed at him.

“And you are the mightiest Awoken I know. Use that power to dive into Cayde's mind, and your Light might pull him free.”

Moving the chair closer to Cayde’s bedside, she bid Zavala to sit. He complied, overwhelmed by the reality of what he was about to do.

“I’m counting on you, my dear friend." Ikora knelt to embrace him, placing a gentle kiss atop his head. "Please remember that I love you both. Be careful, but be brave."

With solemn grace, the Warlock strode across the room, and stepped out.

"Call if you need me.”

The door shut once more, and he was left alone with Cayde.

Zavala stripped down to his undersuit, again, and summoned the playing card. Carefully, he lay himself on top of Cayde on the bed, drawing Cayde’s hood away from his face. This was the way it started before—cheek to cheek, temple to temple.

He pressed the card and the stone into Cayde’s right hand, and gripped it tight.

_“Means I love you.”_

Zavala was plunged into nothingness.

 

つづく

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter unraveled on me a bit, I think... And the next one is when things get **weird** , y'all. Anyway, tweet me [@leaux_wren](https://twitter.com/leaux_wren) and we can all discuss underrepresented Destiny slash together.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, there is a brief but bad Andal feel midway through the chapter, just as a warning.

Reality melted away into freefall, his descent slowing until it felt like he was sinking through oil. He could barely see his hand in front of his face—everything was obscured by a viscous blackness, the likes of which he had never seen. His limbs were leaden, and panic overwhelmed him as he felt the all-too familiar sensation of his Light being smothered.

The ichor was suffocating him.

Rallying his strength, Zavala reached a desperate hand out in front of him, as far as he could, praying for something to grab hold of. The very tips of his fingers brushed over a rough, rocky surface—the ground, or some sort of foundation. In that instant, the mass suspending him rushed away, and with a smack, he landed face-first on a surface of hard stone.

There was very little to see by, beyond the faint glow of his own skin, but he could tell he was coated in a strange, odorless tar, the ground around him slick with it. To his horror, he convulsed, heaving a mouthful of the stuff onto the stone, hacking and gasping for air. Still wheezing, he attempted to sit up, and as he did so, witnessed an amber light splitting the space far above him—a sickly, broken sky.

An involuntary shiver shook him by the neck as he gazed up through a dark cloud as it roved, like an amorphous swarm of insects, across a jagged landscape of scorched rubble. Some primal part of Zavala recognized this feeling, the memory of it. Before the Collapse, he was human, and his every atom quaked in fear of the force that once reshaped him.

If an Awoken passed into the Darkness again, what would they become?

One thing was now clear—their worst fears for what Cayde was experiencing were justified. Zavala had indeed been thrust into the very nightmare of the Collapse itself, and he wondered how long he could last before it consumed him.

The force of gravity in this space felt triple that of Earth—even without the tar-like sludge, his limbs were sluggish. Zavala fought to stand, in spite of this. He had to search for Cayde, and when searching for Cayde, the smartest way to start was to climb.

Trudging across the endless hellscape, there was little to see but the tar-drenched ruins of a demolished city—indecipherable masses of twisted stone and plasteel. None of it was recognizable, but that hardly mattered—all he had to focus on was putting one foot in front of the other, and getting to higher ground.

There was no sound. There was no sense of the passing of time. There was only the unnatural weight of his body, the shivers wracking his spine as foreboding swarms passed overhead. After what might have been hours, he came across a pile of rubble that looked taller and sturdier than most, and reached out to find a suitable handhold.

One hand, then the other. One foot, then the other. Even at just twenty feet, the climb was grueling—either the air was thinning, or his lungs were overburdened by the gravity. Whatever the cause, when he got to the plateau of the blasted-out structure, he collapsed in a heap of sweat. Reaching to unfasten the collar of his undersuit, he heard something—the first sound he could remember hearing since he smacked into the ground upon landing here.

Someone was humming.

“Cayde?” He choked, sitting up to take a deeper breath, before calling out again, “Cayde, is that you?”

The humming stopped.

Zavala could feel his heart thundering in his chest.

He was alarmed to see a figure, shrouded in silence, slowly emerging from the shadows of the wreckage. Stepping into the wan light of the shattered sky, Cayde peered out at Zavala, his face frozen in disbelief. The Exo looked haggard, his standard gear drenched in that black tar, his optics not quite as bright as they ought to be. With great caution, Cayde strode over to where Zavala was sitting and stopped short, dropping into a crouch. He reached out with a trembling hand.

Gloved fingers pressed against Zavala’s chest, just briefly.

Cayde looked horror-struck.

“You-” he rasped, voice cut with static, “you’re really here? But you can’t be, you can’t be. It isn’t possible, this is-”

“Cayde,” Zavala soothed, grabbing that gloved hand and pressing it back against his chest, “I’m really here.”

With a sharp tug, Cayde wrenched his hand free.

“But why?” He stammered. “Nevermind how you did it, you’d have to be insane to dive into a failing Exo’s head. Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”

Zavala shrugged.

“I had a feeling there were risks, but I took them gladly.” With great effort, he stood up, and offered Cayde his hand once more.

“I came here to bring you home.”

Cayde shot to his feet, eyes wide.

“No, no. You’re being stupid,” he pressed against Zavala’s chest, with both hands. “You’ve gotta get out of here, Zavala, I’m begging you.”

Why did this hurt? It hurt like Cayde was gutting him where he stood.

“I refuse to leave without you. This is your last chance to come back to us—I won’t let you go without a fight.”

The Hunter pushed harder.

“You don’t understand,” he hissed, “soon, this place is gonna rip me apart, right down to bare circuits. If you’re here with me, you’re gonna get caught up in it too, and I-” he trailed off.

“I can lose my mind, Zavala—been there, done that—but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna drag you down with me.”

If an Exo could cry, Cayde looked like he was fit to start any second.

“I can’t lose you, too.”

Zavala gripped Cayde’s shoulders, tightly.

“You won’t lose me. I will take every punishment your mind can dish out, and at the end of it all, we will return to Ikora. Together.”

The sky above them grew darker, as the color seemed to leech away from everything in sight.

“Trust me, Cayde.”

The Exo grew tense, then embraced Zavala with all his might.

“Zavala, for a tactical egghead, you can be such an idiot, sometimes,” he laughed, strained with misery.

“I will try to take that as a compliment,” Zavala sighed, relishing the feeling of Cayde in his arms after being set adrift in this wasteland for so long. His bone-deep exhaustion seemed to lift, just a little.

And then everything went sideways.

Something was lashing at out at him, with boiling heat, restraining his ankles, then his neck, pulling him backwards. Tendrils of shadow fastened around his waist and wrists, ripping him away, up into the air above the shattered building. He could hear nothing but Cayde screaming for him.

Pain assaulted every inch of his body as he was rended by scorching shadow—winding up his legs, his torso, enveloping his neck and arms. He opened his mouth to cry out, but he could neither draw breath, nor make a sound. The swarm did not care to hear him—just wanted him to hurt. Suspending him in the desolate sky, it wanted him to bear witness to this ruined world.

No, that wasn’t right.

It wanted Cayde to witness his suffering.

Time was lost to agony, but eventually everything faded, his essence melting away into nothingness.

<><><>

Freezing cold. Burning hot. A prison of stone, buried in glaciers—devouring men, and churning out weapons of war.

Ganymede… Callisto… Tethys… Dione… Rhea…

Zavala wracked his brain, trying to recall the names of all the icy satellites remaining in Jovian space. He was laying on a vast battlefield of black sand, and though he appeared to be on an ice moon without atmosphere, he was breathing in acrid smoke. There was fire and chaos—there were bodies strewn everywhere.

On the horizon of that black expanse, amidst the carnage, there rose a tall, stone tower.

Despite the plummeting feeling in the pit of Zavala’s stomach, he stood, and stepped forward through the piles of bodies with great care. Cayde had to be here somewhere, he reasoned, although something deeper warned him that he might not like what he found.

Right on cue, he spotted a crumpled form on the ground, some distance away, sporting a familiar brown Hunter cloak. Zavala broke into a sprint.

“Cayde,” he shouted, skidding to a halt, kneeling down to turn over the body, only to be punched in the gut by the realization that he wasn't holding Cayde at all.

This was the dead body of Andal Brask.

Seeing him again this way, riddled with bullets, was devastating—a twisted and brutal reunion. On his passing, Zavala had been grieved by the loss of his trusted comrade. Trying and failing to process this new horror, he was startled by the subtle, crunching sound of a footfall behind him.

He twisted around and looked up to see Cayde—not dressed as a Guardian, but as an Exo soldier in a Clovis Bray combat uniform, covered in blood, oil and ash. His eyes were blank, red as flame, and he was aiming a Golden Age military assault rifle point-blank in Zavala's face.

In a split-second, Zavala grabbed the barrel of the gun and pushed it up, his hand burning as he directed a hail of bullets skyward. He whirled around, shoving his back against the Exo, and used his right shoulder as leverage to break the rifle out of Cayde's grip, flinging it into the blazing fire around them.

Without missing a beat, Cayde spun Zavala back around by the shoulders and head-butted him with the base of his horn and forehead plate. Zavala staggered back, instantly dazed.

“Cayde, stop,” he pleaded, grasping at his head, but it was no use. Cayde payed him no heed, instead crouching to draw a long combat knife from his boot.

Zavala felt his pulse pounding in his ears, heard his blood rushing thickly as he tried to formulate a plan of action.

This was the Dream—the nightmare of the Deep Stone Crypt. It was clear Cayde was intent on killing Zavala in his effort to return to that tower, just as he killed every one of the corpses that were heaped around them.

Zavala tried his best not look at the dead, for fear he might begin to recognize their features.

He tried his best not to think about what might happen if Cayde managed to kill him, too.

Cayde rushed him, wielding the knife in a saber grip, rather than the icepick grip of a Hunter—a simple detail that made Zavala’s head spin. He couldn't bring himself to attack Cayde outright, and his undersuit could provide little protection, so he focused on evasion.

The terrain was chaotic, and Cayde’s advance was as wild as it was ruthless. The first cut sliced into Zavala’s right shoulder—the result of a bad block. The next one nicked his left forearm. One glanced off his forehead, above his right eye. Then came a split down across his chin. At this rate, he was going to be run-through. Even if the Titan managed to find a blade of his own, it was obvious he had no chance of beating Cayde in a knife fight. Zavala’s only hope was to disarm his opponent, and challenge him hand-to-hand.

Rolling out of range, Zavala plucked a long, metal staff off of a nearby soldier, and set to work parrying the knife blows as best he could. When he saw openings, he thrust at Cayde’s wrists with the staff, trying to knock the knife loose from that iron grip. As he fought for his life, Cayde’s impassive face made him want to scream. Poisonous fury washed over him as blood dripped from his wounds into his eyes, and he was sick with rage on Cayde’s behalf—rage against whoever transformed such a clever, impetuous man into a mindless killing machine, all those centuries ago. It was unforgivable.

Steeling himself with that anger, he struck out with force enough to snap Cayde’s wrist, sending the combat knife spiraling far afield. Pressing his advantage, Zavala attempted to sweep Cayde’s legs out from under him with the staff, but the Exo cartwheeled sideways in an impressive display of acrobatics, putting his full weight onto his broken wrist. The man clearly felt no pain—showed no indication he felt anything at all.

This would have to be settled with brute force.

Zavala grit his teeth and tossed his weapon into the fire, charging at Cayde with all the strength his Lightless fists could muster. He swung low, aiming to knock the Exo off-balance, but Cayde absorbed the force of the strike to his stomach without batting an eye. He made a vicious grab for Zavala’s jaw, but the Titan was able to weave right, burying his fist into Cayde’s side. This time, the Exo buckled just enough that Zavala could duck and tackle Cayde around the middle, knocking him to the ground in a spray of black sand.

They grappled for dominance. The longer Zavala stared down into those ghastly red eyes, the hotter his anger burned. This horrible specter was not Cayde—did not deserve to share his name. On impulse, he lashed out at the Exo’s jaw, not realizing his error. Cayde dodged the blow, and stole the opportunity to wriggle out from under Zavala. The Titan scrabbled for Cayde’s ankles in a frantic attempt to wrestle him back into submission, but Cayde lifted his legs off the ground and captured Zavala in a crushing headlock with his thighs. Zavala choked, his arms weakening as Cayde tightened his hold and used it to flip their positions, pinning the Titan to the ground, beneath his hips.

Zavala was losing breath, could feel himself fading. In this esoteric space, there was no Ghost to save him from this fatal mistake. He thought about what failing would mean—losing himself and losing Cayde—and fear shot through him like lightning.

Lightning.

His lightning.

Anxiety sparked a chain reaction. Instead of the familiar force of Arc, a surge of Awoken power leapt from his fingers and up through Cayde’s legs, stunning the Exo as he toppled over into the sand. Zavala propped himself up on his hands and knees, gasping to recover his breath.

He was startled to look over at Cayde and see blue optics blinking up at him from the sand.

“Zavala, you’re bleeding,” the Exo muttered, in a daze, eyes wandering between the cuts on the Titan’s face and arms. “I did that to you, didn’t I?”

Nonplussed, he looked around at the burning wasteland.

“I murdered all these people.”

He didn’t sound surprised, but then, this likely wasn’t Cayde’s first time experiencing this nightmare. Zavala wiped the blood and sweat from his eyes.

“You had no choice.”

“Why?” Cayde mourned, laying spread-eagled beside him, staring out at the ominous tower on the horizon. “Why were we made this way? I’m so tired, Zavala—I don’t wanna hurt people I care about anymore.”

Zavala could not even imagine what it felt like—falling asleep, only to dream of killing everyone you loved.

“I'm so sorry,” he sighed, and just as he reached out, the sand beneath them shifted. He saw Cayde sinking into the ground, before he felt his own legs being swallowed by the black.

“Wait,” he shouted, latching on to the Exo’s wrist as they were both dragged under the bloody battlefield. The weight of the sand was crushing, and just as Cayde slipped out of his grasp, he felt his mind plunging sidelong into the abyss of thought.

<><><>

Zavala stood before a wide window, at a high elevation, staring out over the Martian horizon at twilight. He didn’t recognize any of the the buildings in the city below, but if he was standing inside an intact skyscraper on Mars, then he had to be somewhere in Freehold…

Sometime during the Golden Age.

Hearing music behind him, he glanced over his shoulder to see a wide open parlor of sorts—small, lamplit tables on a gold tile floor, surrounding a long, polished bar. The source of the music was a group of live musicians posted by a dance floor in the corner of the room—one on strings, one horn, a set of drums, and a large piano. He remembered reading about pianos, once.

There was a small sign shining over the arching doorway behind them, which read, ‘Bar Camille at the Meridian Bay Grand Hotel’.

This was a hotel—a hotel bar, in Freehold, on Golden Age Mars. His mind boggled. This was the sort of building Zavala had only ever seen the shattered skeleton of, let alone been inside. There were maybe fifty or so patrons in the room, all in various kinds of fancy dress, from dark suits to long, colorful gowns. After a moment, it struck him that everyone in this room was undeniably human. His heart skipped.

Everyone?

Whirling back to face the window, he caught a look at his dim reflection in the glass. Everything slid out of focus for a moment as he tried to reconcile what he saw—his face looked almost exactly the same, only amber eyes stared back at him, and his skin was a rich, dark olive. He was dressed in a black, collared shirt, with a thin necktie, and long, black pants. Trying to ground himself, he wiped a hand across his brow and up over his head, following the movement in his reflection.

It was really him—he looked human.

Self-consciously, he peered over his shoulder to check that nobody had been watching. He seemed not to have caught anyone’s attention, so he walked over to a less-attended end of the bar, with as much composure as he could muster, and tried to blend in. What was he doing here? Where was Cayde? There had to be something he was missing. Trying to look busy, he picked up a drink menu, but seeing the sanguine hue of his hands set his head spinning again.

Somewhere to his right, cutting through the heady music, rang an arrestingly familiar voice.

“So I say to the guy, you have no idea how messy this can get. You ever been on an op like this before?”

When Zavala turned to look at the source of that voice, he was staring into brilliant blue eyes—human eyes. He hadn’t meant to catch the man’s gaze, but neither could he look away.

The fixation appeared to be mutual.

“‘Scuse me, fellas,” the man pardoned himself from the small group he was with at the bar, and sauntered over to Zavala with easy confidence. He smirked as he slid right up next to him, elbows on the bartop, a curious finger tapping the edge of the menu in Zavala’s hands.

“And what are _you_ drinking, handsome?” He came on, brazenly, the flush of alcohol burnishing his tan cheeks. Wavy, disheveled locks of dark brown hair tousled over those piercing blue eyes. His attire was simple—a crisp, white shirt, open at the collar, topped with a sharp, black blazer. This man should have been a perfect stranger, but his voice and demeanor were unmistakable.

Zavala was overwhelmed by how surreal it was to look at the human Cayde used to be.

“Like what you see?” Cayde teased, not at all put off by Zavala’s intense scrutiny. “Seriously, though, what’re you drinking? Whatever you want, it's on me.”

Zavala couldn't help himself—he was already drunk on the sound of Cayde's voice.

“Buyer’s choice,” he challenged. “Surprise me.”

“Say that again.”

“Pardon?”

“Say anything,” Cayde sighed, “that voice is killing me.”

Zavala rewarded this outburst with a deep laugh, and Cayde’s hand shot up to summon the bartender. The drink he received was a familiar shade of cyan—did Cayde subconsciously associate Zavala with this color? The flavor was smooth and dry, with a hint of citrus. He took a moment to savor the taste, and collect his thoughts as best he could.

Cayde leaned his head on his hand, looking up at Zavala with hooded eyes.

“So tell me, what brings you to Mars? You here with the Company?” He asked, cool and casual.

The company? As in Clovis Bray?

“No, I'm,” Zavala hesitated, catching Cayde’s gaze again, “I suppose I'm here to meet someone.”

“Oh, that's cryptic,” Cayde chirped, his eyes twinkling. “I like cryptic.”

The playful tone squeezed Zavala’s heart. He wanted nothing more than to sweep Cayde up in his arms and kiss him senseless, but he took a deep breath and looked away, smiling politely.

“I'm afraid I'm not very interesting.”

Cayde chuckled—a dark, sultry sound.

“Buddy, I've known you about sixty seconds, and I can already tell that’s bullshit.”

Zavala smirked into his drink, quirking an eyebrow.

“Oh indeed?”

The would-be-stranger drew close, pressing their shoulders together.

“Indeed,” he replied, imitating Zavala’s bass tones, while shamelessly staring at his lips. Zavala threw back the rest of his drink and set the glass down on the bar, steeling himself.

“What gives you that impression?”

Cayde grinned.

“You're standing in this bar, alone, even though look at you—your arms are gonna tear right outta that shirt,” he declared, sparing a moment to appreciate them. “And you say you're not here with the Company, but I'll let you in on a little secret,” he murmured, casting an exaggerated look over his shoulder, “practically everyone on this planet works for Clovis Bray.”

“Yourself included?”

Cayde made a sour face, laughing bitterly.

“Oh, you could say that.”

Zavala tilted his head.

“Now who’s being cryptic?” He chided.

Blue eyes widened with amusement.

“Touché,” Cayde breathed, turning to lay a hand on Zavala's shoulder. “Say, you wanna dance with me?”

It felt a foolish reaction, but Zavala's stomach flipped. He glanced over at the larger group beside the bar.

“Are you certain? Didn't you come here with-”

“It's fine,” Cayde slurred a little, “doesn't matter what I do tonight. It's my last night as a free man—I'm gonna spend it how I want, with who I want, damn the consequences.”

Zavala frowned—his last night as a free man, or his last night as a human? Perhaps he meant both.

“What's with that face? I won't have you feeling sorry for me, now,” Cayde insisted, drumming his fingers on the bar a moment, before admitting, “unless it'll get me that dance.”

Not breaking his gaze, Zavala reached up and pried Cayde’s hand from his shoulder, lacing their fingers together, instead.

“Lead the way.”

Cayde beamed, pulling Zavala over to the small dance floor. The music had a pleasant swing to it, slow and sensuous, and Cayde placed both hands on the small of Zavala’s back.

Those warm hands felt very familiar.

Zavala rested his arms atop Cayde’s shoulders. He may not have been as inebriated as the other man, but he let himself sway to the music just the same. He should have danced with Cayde like this at the Restoration Celebration—should have taken every chance he could. Without thinking, he leaned in closer, bringing them nose to nose. For his part, Cayde hardly seemed to mind, as he was the one to close the distance, gently—joining them in a kiss.

Those lips felt familiar, too.

Deepening the kiss, Zavala inhaled sharply, through his nose. He couldn't care less how many people were watching—he needed this, and part of him was terrified to realize he would be tempted to stay forever in this dream, were it the only way of being with Cayde.

Dream?

That's right—none of this was real. It might have been built from one of Cayde's real memories, but Zavala could not afford to be distracted. He came here with a purpose.

At length, the other man broke the kiss, eyes hazy with lust.

“Could I interest you in another drink?” Cayde whispered, chest pressed flush with Zavala's. “Maybe in my room this time?”

Zavala felt like his blood was on fire, but he restrained himself. Between them, he felt something odd in his shirt.

Stepping back an inch, Zavala reached into his breast pocket, stunned as he pulled out the King of Hearts playing card. Cayde looked puzzled, but Zavala just smiled as he studied the card for a moment.

“I believe this belongs to you,” he said, at last, revealing it to Cayde.

“What is that? What're you-” he gasped, staring at the card, then back at Zavala. Cayde's eyes began to glow.

“You're-”

His eyes were bright as blue flame—growing ever brighter, until everything went white.

<><><>

They were alone, standing in a white expanse. Here and there stood cluttered bookshelves and tables, all piled with odds and ends, and Zavala could sense they were at the center, now—in a place nearly untouched by the corruption of the Darkness. Cayde was dressed in Hunter gear, but it was nondescript, the sort of gear a novice Guardian might wear.

This Cayde might not have been exactly like his original self, but he was very close—tucked away, here, safe amidst all the treasures and apocrypha that made him so unique.

Cayde jumped, optics scrutinizing Zavala as if he had only just noticed him standing there.

“Whoa, you may not realize this, buddy, but you are,” he eyed Zavala up and down, his gaze slow and lingering.

Zavala could feel his ears warming.

“You're blue.”

What?

“I-” Zavala blinked, looking down at his hands as if to confirm that, yes, indeed, he was blue. Was Cayde missing part of his memories?

“Cayde, do you remember who I am?”

After a moment, Cayde’s mind seemed to catch up, and he really looked Zavala in the eyes. The space shifted, and Cayde’s outfit was replaced with his personalized gear.

He wore Andal’s cloak once more.

“Zavala?”

The Titan’s heart leapt into his throat in sudden hope.

“Yes?”

“Zavala, what is all this?” Cayde muttered, gaping at the white space around them. “Are we alive, or are we, y’know,” he shrugged, trying not to appear worried, “the other thing?”

The Titan closed his eyes, sensing the power inside them—all around them.

“I still feel the Light,” he reassured the Hunter, taking a step closer, “I know we’re still alive.”

“Right. Good,” Cayde muttered, folding his arms. “For awhile there, I could have sworn I was in Hell,” he confessed, “but then you showed up, and I knew that couldn’t be right.”

It was such an absurdly Cayde-like way of expressing gratitude, Zavala couldn’t help but laugh.

“You old romantic,” he teased, and Cayde locked eyes with Zavala as the Titan extended his hand.

“I came here to bring you home.”

The Exo’s eyes were shining as he took his hand, and Zavala felt his Light—both the blessings of the Traveler and of the Awoken—pouring out of him, and into Cayde.

Cayde gasped, pulling Zavala close, even as the Light continued to wash over them both.

“Zavala,” Cayde stammered, “I love you. I can’t believe you would do all of this for me, I don’t deserve-”

The Titan kissed him, and when their lips parted, they were lying on Cayde’s bed, in his dimly lit room, in the Tower. Zavala let go of the stone and the playing card, and rolled to the side, watching Cayde’s awestruck expression through heavy-lidded eyes.

“I love you more,” he goaded, smiling as exhaustion claimed his consciousness.

 

つづく

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zavala is gonna take a nap, now. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this unofficial sequel to Inception. Tweet me [@leaux_wren](https://twitter.com/leaux_wren) if you feel like screaming in my face about the Vanguard.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took about twice as long to finish as I wanted it to, partially because it gave me trouble, and partially because Osiris invited me over to Mercury for awhile. Anyhow. 
> 
> Without further ado, herein lies some resolution, but mostly just romance and smut ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

A faint tugging sensation at the forefront of his mind drew Zavala up out of a deep sleep, and he blinked slowly, his head heavy with an unfamiliar exhaustion—like he'd overworked a muscle he'd never used before. He was greeted by a pair of bright, nervous eyes, hovering over him.

“Welcome back, Blue,” Cayde hummed with relief. “I was starting to wonder if I should call someone—you were dead to the world for a while.”

Eyes drifting over to the lone window, Zavala was shocked to see it was well past sundown.

“Cayde,” he rasped, “how long was I asleep?”

The Exo shrugged.

“Only thirty minutes, give or take, but I didn't know what to expect.” He brushed Zavala’s jaw with the back of his fingers, downplaying his obvious nerves. “Guess I was afraid you’d fallen into a coma, or something.”

A rational fear, given the circumstances, but there was likely a much simpler explanation.

“To be honest, I have not slept much since we reclaimed the city,” Zavala admitted, a bit embarrassed. “It is possible my body was simply seizing the opportunity to rest.”

Cayde smirked, shaking his head.

“Seriously, Zavala? It shows, sometimes—sleep would do you some good, once in awhile.”

The Titan nodded impatiently, no longer able to contain himself—he had to ask.

“Cayde, how are you feeling?” He reached up, sliding the Hunter’s hood back, just to get a better look at his face. “Does anything feel amiss?”

Blue optics blinked down at him a few times, considering the question.

“I do feel kinda different,” Cayde muddled, flexing his jaw around, as if he could taste something unusual. Zavala tried not to fret.

“Different how?”

“Hard to put into words,” came a cautions reply, metal fingers idly tracing the glowing patches of skin on Zavala's cheek. “It’s like you somehow infused me with your Light.”

Was such a thing possible? Zavala looked askance at the pale blue stone where it rested on top of the blankets—perhaps this was the secret of the Techuen’s power.

“How can you be sure?”

“Oh, I’m not sure—not really,” Cayde tilted his head, squinting. “But Exos have damn good senses, even for stuff other folks can’t pick up, and it just doesn’t taste like the Traveler’s Light. Does that make any sense?”

Zavala must have looked as confused as he felt. Exos could taste Light?

“Never mind—who cares about me,” Cayde dismissed him with a wave of his hand, “what about you? Are you alright?”

The Titan suppressed a frustrated groan—of course he was alright. It wasn’t as if he were the one whose mind had been a hair's breadth away from oblivion.

“I’m fine, Cayde. I just feel a bit drained at the moment.”

Eyelids of steel narrowed—Cayde looked unconvinced.

“You sure? Because you saw some shit, Zavala—shit nobody who isn’t an Exo has seen before.” Cayde made a self-conscious snort. “Plus, you saw a lot more of me than I’ve ever cared to show anyone, that’s for sure.”

More than he cared to show.

In his haste to rescue Cayde, Zavala never once stopped to think about what a severe breach of personal boundaries he was committing. Now, he was blindsided, and he found it difficult to overstate just how much this revelation unsettled him.

“Forgive me, Cayde. It was never my intention to-”

Metal fingers pressed his mouth shut.

“Okay, let me just stop you right there, big guy—were you about to apologize for saving me?”

Zavala frowned, removing Cayde’s hand with a gentle tug.

“Regardless of the end result, it was an invasion of your privacy.”

Cayde groaned, rolling his eyes.

“You asked me, remember? You asked me if I would save myself, if given the chance, and I said yes,” he reminded Zavala, sincerity ringing clear. “Way I see it, you got nothing to be sorry for. Besides, I learned a few things.”

“Learned a few things?” He queried, guilt eclipsed by curiosity. “Does that mean you remember what happened?”

“More or less,” Cayde said, with a wink, as his fingers set to wandering again. “Enough to know I’d like to express my appreciation—maybe finish that dance.”

Skin suffused with a brightening glow, Zavala sighed as Cayde’s nimble fingers set to work on the fastenings at the collar of his undersuit.

“Always wanted to get a closer look at these,” Cayde muttered to himself, and Zavala felt the ghost of a hot tongue flicker across the tattoo on the left side of his neck. He sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“Wait,” Zavala faltered, grabbing clumsily at the Hunter’s shoulder, “we should at least take a moment to let the others know you’re alright.”

Cayde leaned back and narrowed his eyes again, before affecting a heavy sigh.

“Okay, fine—just Ikora and Amanda. And tell them I need ‘rest’ or something, because if you don’t mind,” he drawled, running a hand over Zavala's biceps, “I’d like to spend the rest of the night in these arms.”

Unfazed, Zavala caught Cayde’s hand, placing a reverent kiss on the back of the Hunter’s glove.

“I don’t mind that in the least.”

In a fit, Cayde rolled off the bed. Zavala took great care in dictating a message to his Ghost, trying and failing to ignore the way Cayde leapt up off the ground and stripped naked in the blink of an eye. As he finished composing the message, Zavala made his own mental note to put his worries about Cayde’s behavior on hold. Clearly, the Exo had never felt better.

“You let the ladies know I’m back in business?”

Zavala nodded, dismissing his Ghost as he propped himself up against the wall at the head of the bed.

“As requested, I informed them you weren’t fit for visitors.”

“Good thing, too,” Cayde deadpanned, “because my pants are gone. They’re gone, and they’re not coming back.”

Letting his vibrant eyes bore into Cayde’s, Zavala raised an unamused eyebrow, even as he reached up to finish unzipping his undersuit. Cayde’s jaw seemed to take a brief vacation, before he snapped back to reality.

“Seriously, those tattoos,” he crowed, padding across the floor towards the bed. “I know they’re small, but,” the Exo made a groan of frustration, “I see ‘em peeking out over your collar, sometimes, and they just pull my eyes like magnets.”

“I suppose that’s fitting,” Zavala observed, shrugging his arms out of the thick material, and rolling the suit down to his waist, “as they’re meant to depict branching Arc energy.”

“See?” The Exo chuckled. “Magnets.”

Cayde crouched over him, offering his hands in helping Zavala peel the suit off. Zavala raised his hips, just enough to let those metal fingers tug the suit down to his knees, then off his ankles. Expecting the air to be cool against his naked skin, he was met with the pleasant reminder of just how warm Cayde’s body could be.

Now that they were both completely exposed, Cayde rocked back onto his heels, as if struck by some paralyzing emotion.

“Cayde,” Zavala broached, careful to keep that nagging fear out of his voice, “is something the matter?”

Even as the Exo shook his head in denial, the tension around his eyes indicated otherwise. After a moment, he seemed to find his words again.

“I mean, shit, Zavala,” he confided, in a hushed whisper, “I thought I was never gonna see you again.”

Before Zavala could even open his mouth to reply, that metal hand was in his face again.

“No, no—you don’t have to say anything. I know I’m being stupid, and I should just enjoy this.”

Zavala took that hand, pulling Cayde over to sit beside him at the head of the bed.

“I don’t think you’re being stupid—not at all,” Zavala consoled. “I confess, I harbored doubts as to whether I would succeed, and the thought of coming face-to-face with a Cayde who no longer recognized me,” he trailed off, trying to banish that old anxiety. Cayde stared at him, eyes wide.

“Zavala,” he croaked, voice heavy with both guilt and awe in equal measure, “I gotta admit, I never thought that far ahead—about what it would be like for you to have to deal with me after-”

“Rightly so,” Zavala countered, in a tone that brooked no argument. “You had much more pressing concerns.”

Cayde balked.

“I’m just saying, that’s a brutal reality to face—losing someone, then being forced to interact with their copy.”

“But I didn’t lose you,” Zavala breathed, words suffuse with relief as he pulled Cayde tight against his chest, leaning down to place a kiss atop his horn. Cayde hummed—a broken sound, teetering on the edge of a sob.

“Damn you, Blue,” he muttered, trying to laugh around a swell of feeling as he swatted at Zavala’s shoulder, “making me lose my cool like this.”

“Perish the thought,” Zavala goaded, playing for levity. “I would never intentionally jeopardize your ‘cool.’”

The laugh the Exo let loose was so genuine, Zavala was almost convinced his play had worked.

“Hey,” Cayde muttered, suddenly, as phantom hands of fire burst into life against Zavala’s hips, “how about I join us?”

Zavala thought back to the first time Cayde attempted to bring their minds together, and in spite of how his body ached for that contact, he hesitated.

“Are you sure you feel well enough to try that again?”

Cayde sat up, eye to eye with Zavala, and rested a hand against the bare, blue skin of his chest.

“Trust me,” he boasted, eyes glowing with a smile, “I can handle it. Anyway, you sorta left me with a shortcut.”

“You mean my Light?” Zavala wondered, adjusting their positions to help Cayde better straddle his waist.

“Yeah,” Cayde hissed, the smooth silicone padding of his hips grinding down against Zavala, as he lined up their faces—cheek to cheek, temple to temple. “You ready?”

Zavala drew in a deep breath, anchoring himself in that dry heat.

“Yes.”

And in a rush, he was lost.

But it wasn’t long until he found himself back in that lustrous hotel bar, in Freehold, on Golden Age Mars. The crowded room was more or less exactly as he remembered it from Cayde’s dream—right down to the band in the corner—and he saw the man there, luxuriating in his human form, throwing back a drink at the bar.

Zavala looked down at his own human hands with only mild discomfort.

“How do you choose?” He asked, raising his voice above the music, marveling at how he could feel so gratified to return to a space he had never truly set foot in.

“Choose what?” Cayde replied, smacking his lips as he slammed the empty whiskey glass down on the bar. Zavala stepped closer.

“Do you choose where we end up?”

As he approached, those blue eyes made no secret of drinking in the sight of Zavala from head to toe.

“What happens here depends on the mood we’re both in—this space sorta melds our two expectations into one,” he mused, reaching out to twist Zavala’s thin tie between long, tan fingers.

In that case, this bar must have leapt to the forefront of both their minds—perhaps due to the unfulfilled promise of their dance.

Sure enough, Cayde tightened his grip on the tie, tugging Zavala close.

“What say we pick up where we left off,” he purred, “and take a couple of drinks upstairs?”

Dark curls danced in front of Cayde’s beckoning gaze, and Zavala could not refuse that offer if his life depended on it. His blood sang with Solar fire again.

“I would like that,” he affirmed, reaching for a handful of Cayde's ass, rewarded for his boldness by a look of shock and longing. It was a relief to know that, this time, Cayde remembered who Zavala was—remembered their life and history together, and wanted him all the more for it.

Cayde tilted his head down just an inch—enough to brush their lips together, teasing a kiss—before breaking away to order two more glasses of whiskey.

Impetuous. Endearing. Irresistible.

Zavala took the offered drink without even looking at it, following the other man as he sauntered out of the bar.

The hall preceding the elevators was dark, its tiled walls gleaming like polished obsidian. Above them, brass soffits were studded with twinkling pinpricks of warm, white light, shining down across the black floor like a field of stars. All the opulence of this lost era did little to sway Zavala's attention, however, from the retreating form in front of him—the hand that reached out to call their lift.

Cayde could most likely skip them right to their destination, but the fact that he was intent on making Zavala wait was somehow more intoxicating than it was infuriating. As the cab doors opened, he crowded Cayde into the elevator with long, martial strides. The other man whirled around to face him, almost spilling his liquor.

“Whoa, there, Big Blue,” he faltered, drinking in Zavala's face again. “Okay, well, maybe not so blue. But hold your horses, I gotta hit our floor.”

Snaking a long arm around Zavala, Cayde managed to press the appropriate button without ever breaking his gaze. There was a wave of heat, a crackle of electricity in the air—immaterial, but palpable all the same. Even cloaked in human guise, the power of the Light between them could not be contained. Cayde withdrew his arm, leaving a foot of space between them, still staring into Zavala’s eyes over the rim of his glass as he took a slow, deliberate sip.

“This is our floor,” he said, nodding to the door as it slid open behind Zavala. He was so distracted, he must not have heard the chime. Rather than be the one to lose their staring contest, Zavala stepped aside to allow Cayde to exit the cab first.

“After you.”

The spark of laughter in Cayde’s eyes was its own reward. As he brushed past, he dipped in a mock curtsy, reaching into his pockets as he strutted down the hall. He was fishing out a key as Zavala caught up with him.

“This should be us,” he chirped, pressing a small fob against a scanner beside a heavy, black door, which swung open with a click. Inside was a large, stately room, decorated in a classic, clean design. The bed itself was immense, the sort of extravagant statement that no one had the means or the space for since the Collapse. The expanse of it was wrapped tight with crisp, white linens, and topped with an abundance of long pillows and cushions. The vibrant night lights of Freehold filtered through the wide, shadeless glass windows—the lights inside the room were low and warm.

Looking at Cayde, standing in the center of the room to admire the view, Zavala's hands itched to hold him. He slammed back his drink, abandoning the glass with a thud atop a long, low wardrobe. Alerted by the noise, Cayde turned around and drained his own glass, meandering over to set it down alongside Zavala's, stopping bare inches in front of him. Even in the half-light, those eyes were utterly captivating.

“Want help getting rid of these stuffy Golden Age clothes?” Cayde offered, fingers sliding over the knot in that skinny black tie, pulling down on it until it came loose. Zavala reached forward, smoothing Cayde’s open jacket down over his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

“Perhaps we can help each other,” he murmured, deftly unfastening Cayde’s belt, and sliding it free of the carriers. As the belt joined Cayde’s jacket on the ground, Zavala strode forward with conviction, backing Cayde into the bed with no resistance. The man laughed as his knees buckled, bouncing down onto the covers, a look of unbridled joy on his face.

“Oh, you don’t need my help at all, do you?” He chuckled, reaching up to untuck Zavala’s shirt, sliding his hands up underneath it. Closing his eyes, Zavala relished the feeling of those roving fingers, trailing up and down his stomach, across his chest, before they retreated to unbutton the whole thing. He bent down just enough for Cayde to push the tight, black shirt off his shoulders, and took the opportunity to steal a kiss.

Cayde tossed the dress shirt across the room as his hands flew up to seize Zavala’s face, deepening the kiss with a delighted moan that shot straight to Zavala’s groin. Rather than pull back, he surged forward, coaxing the other man to move further onto the bed, kneeling over top of him.

The kiss was searing—fierce and aggressive. All the tension, the fear of losing this precious man, surged out of him like lightning, and the world was reduced to the taste of whiskey and fire. At length, he reached to undo his own belt, only for Cayde to reach up and swat his hands away.

“Let me,” he gasped, breaking the kiss as his eager fingers worked the buckle open, the fly of Zavala’s pants quick to follow. Reaching in, Cayde cupped his hardening length through his briefs, bringing new urgency to the situation.

“We need to get these off, like yesterday,” he huffed, pushing against Zavala’s shoulder, and flipping their positions. Standing up, he stripped off Zavala’s shoes, socks, pants and briefs. He shuddered as the cool air hit his freed erection.

“Oh, wow, you're,” Cayde stammered, swallowing hard. “Damn, Zavala.”

Following suit, Cayde stripped himself with incredible speed. Zavala would never have guessed anyone could undress so quickly without the aid of a transmat, but the man was full of surprises, as always.

“Not gonna lie, seeing that dick again?” Cayde swooned, crawling back over Zavala where he lay naked on the bed, “It's like I can’t think of anything but getting it in me as fast as I can.”

Although his brain could scarcely process the statement, watching Cayde slide over top of him like a hungry snake, part of Zavala recognized he should to be flattered. Cayde wasted no more time getting his hands and mouth on him, eager to drive Zavala to madness.

“Cayde,” he groaned, grasping at the white duvet, as those lips lavished his cock with such tender attention, before approaching an almost punishing tempo. The Hunter’s nose flared, his chest heaving, before he finally came up for air. He chuckled.

“Sad thing about being an Exo, you forget what it’s like to be out of breath—I forgot how amazing this feels,” he proclaimed, his hot breath still panting over the head of Zavala’s cock. “This time, pull my hair, too,” he begged, “I’m dying to remember what that feels like.”

As he dove in again, Zavala tentatively reached down to thread his fingers through the loose tufts of Cayde's fringe. Cayde hummed in encouragement, his grip at the base of Zavala’s dick tightening just so, and his hold on Cayde’s hair tightened in a reflexive response. The Hunter moaned in appreciation, swirling his tongue over the head of his leaking erection, and Zavala let loose a guttural sound, head snapping to the side.

“Cayde stop,” he grunted, “you have to stop, I'm-”

Those lips relented, slowly, releasing Zavala with a quiet popping sound. Worked to the edge, Zavala was more than ready, but worried about not having the means to prepare Cayde properly.

“We didn't exactly bring supplies,” he hinted, leveling his breath as best he could.

“Not to worry. This is my room, after all,” Cayde winked, revealing a tube of lube, which had been sitting in the bedside drawer all along. He handed it to Zavala, and collapsed back on the mattress, casually propping his ass up with a pillow, and parting his knees. Taking the tube, Zavala helped himself to a generous handful. Sliding that wet hand along the cleft of Cayde’s ass, he used his left arm to pin the man’s hips down to the bed.

“Are you ready?” He asked, eliciting a frantic nod, and he pushed in, gently, with a thick index finger as he curled his lips, and took the tip of the Hunter’s cock into his mouth.

“Oh, shit, Zavala,” Cayde whined, back arching sharply, the Titan’s strong arm keeping him in place. Just one finger, and his chest was already heaving like a forge bellows. Then again, it had likely been ages since the man had experienced sensations quite like this.

Desperate hands clung to his shoulders as he worked that finger in and out of Cayde, firm but forgiving, plying him open. He forced himself to slow down and take great care, splitting his focus between the ministrations of his fingers and his mouth, making the experience as painless as he could. As Cayde started squirming, he decided to chance adding a second digit.

“Fuck, okay,” the Hunter keened, “okay, that's-”

Zavala froze, drawing his mouth away.

“Are you alright?”

“Fuck yes I am," Cayde spluttered, "keep going, big guy. Don’t mind my babbling, I can’t help-”

He broke off with a whimper as Zavala descended on him once more, gingerly scissoring his fingers back and forth. The Titan was left wishing he had a free hand left to explore the tan skin of that lean stomach, those muscled thighs, but he supposed there would be time for that later. There was a faint taste of salt pooling against his tongue, and he was just about to add a third finger, when Cayde arrested his wrist altogether.

“No, no more,” he gasped, “can't take any more of that—I'm ready as I'll ever be.”

“If you're certain,” Zavala acquiesced, carefully slipping his fingers free, leaving Cayde writhing as he knelt between his legs.

“Wait, I got one more request,” Cayde interjected, touching Zavala’s shoulder. “This position was always my favorite,” he confessed, as he flipped them once more, sitting astride Zavala’s stomach. “Is this okay?”

Zavala nodded, looking up at this splendid man—the strange but beautiful embodiment of a soul that was so dear to him. It was more than okay.

With little warning, Cayde held Zavala’s gaze, and sank down onto him in one, slow, languorous motion. The blue of his human eyes burned as brightly in that moment as his Exo optics ever did, and the scope of existence was compressed in the heat of Cayde’s body as it shuddered above him. They held themselves still as Cayde adjusted to the feel of Zavala inside him.

It seemed he was actually speechless.

“Still alright?” Zavala asked, voice trembling slightly as he reached out, caressing Cayde’s thighs. As if to answer, Cayde flexed those strong legs, lifting himself just a few inches, before easing back down. The slow intensity of it was almost more than Zavala could bear. He wanted to let Cayde set the pace, wanted him to feel comfortable, but it was an arduous test of his self-control.

After a few seconds, Cayde finally opened his mouth to speak.

“You can move too, y’know.”

This time, when Cayde dropped his hips, Zavala bucked up to meet him halfway, and the moan he drew out of that mouth could have woken half the Tower. The Hunter’s head rolled back as he lost himself in the sensation. Zavala tried to match Cayde’s rhythm, but between the two of them, consistency proved difficult. The position clearly worked for Cayde, but he needed better leverage.

“Cayde,” he pleaded, sitting up so they were face-to-face, wrapping the Hunter’s legs firmly around him, “may I-”

“Yes, go,” Cayde huffed, as if reading Zavala’s mind. Grasping Cayde, he shifted forward and stood them both up off of the bed, walking them over to the opposite wall. He could feel the Hunter’s hands seizing on his shoulder blades in anticipation of what was about to happen. Propping Cayde against the wall, Zavala carefully realigned them both before plunging forward. Cayde’s head snapped back with a thud as another gratified moan pealed from deep in his throat, and Zavala resumed his thrusts in earnest.

“Fucking hell, Zavala,” he cried, legs constricting the Titan in a death grip as he was screwed hard into the wall. Zavala kept a firm hold on those quavering thighs, resting his head against his collarbone, savoring the sweet sounds of absolutely wrecking Cayde. He knew he would remember this feeling, that perfect sound, for the rest of his unnaturally long life.

Cayde only lasted another minute before he came without being touched, and Zavala didn't finish far behind, a hint of that psionic feedback still in play, even in this dream-space. It crested and crashed over him with the force of rolling thunder—a nebula collapsing to form a fledgling star. As he brought himself to stillness, he paused to listen to the harmony of their exhausted breathing.

Holding the boneless man in his arms, he peeled them away from the wall, and carried Cayde back over to the bed.

“Just a moment,” he murmured, ducking into the palatial bathroom, and dampening a few clean towels. Without thinking too much about it, he meandered back over to Cayde and pulled back the bedclothes, setting himself to cleaning them both off, before wrapping them under the warm covers.

As he leaned over to embrace Cayde, he caught those blue eyes staring at him with the most bemused expression. He tilted his head in silent question.

“A gentleman, first and foremost,” Cayde marveled, looking utterly lovestruck as he returned Zavala’s embrace.

“What do you mean?”

The man just shrugged.

“I mean, it doesn’t matter how filthy we are in this place. When we wake up, this all goes away.”

While Zavala understood Cayde's point, part of him felt that wasn't quite right—the memory would remain. 

“It isn’t about being clean, not really,” Zavala admitted. “I just wanted to-”

“Take care of me?”

Zavala pressed a kiss against the hollow of the Hunter’s throat, smiling.

“Is that so wrong?”

His cheek was assailed by a series of pokes and pinches.

“You love me,” Cayde teased.

A deep laugh escaped him.

“Traveler help me, I do.”

They drifted off to sleep together as humans on Mars, and woke up in their own bodies the next morning, back on Cayde’s bed, in the Tower.

As he opened his eyes, Zavala was only slightly alarmed to wake up to the sight of Cayde, along with both of their Ghosts, all staring down at him.

“Is there something I’m missing?” He grumbled, trying to shake off the last vestiges of sleep as he reached for his undersuit.

“Oh, we were just arguing about which one of us would have to wake you up,” Cayde joked. “Ikora’s been calling. It’s about time we went to meet her, but I wanted to make sure you got some rest.”

It would take some time to grow used to hearing such casual admissions of affection from Cayde. For now, his cheeks were glowing, as the words made him feel shy, somehow.

“Thank you,” he muttered, standing to slip into his suit again, before materializing his armor. Making sure the Techuen stone and the playing card were safely in the care of his Ghost, he followed Cayde out the door as the two of them made their way to Ikora’s quarters.

When they arrived, Zavala was pleased to see that Amanda was waiting there with her.

“Cayde,” she hollered, rushing forward to throw her arms around the Hunter’s neck in a crushing hug.

“Whoa, down, girl,” he squawked, even as he returned the crushing hug, “watch the hood.”

“Sorry, pal, no can do,” she sniffed, “gotta hug the stupid outta you.”

Zavala and Ikora shared a knowing look.

“We all know that’s an impossible dream,” the Warlock retorted, stepping forward to place a hand on Cayde’s shoulder as Amanda let him go.

“Ikora, you know you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

She looked at Cayde with such emotion in her eyes, Zavala thought it threatened to overflow—but then, Ikora had always been the strongest of the three of them. Cayde reached out to grasp her arm, and Zavala stepped forward.

“I thought you might like to return this to its owner,” he said, offering Ikora the Techuen stone.

She shook her head.

“Portia has already departed for the Reef. She left without the stone, on purpose—she claimed it was a gift.”

Zavala was stunned, at first, then offered it to the Warlock again.

“All the same, I think this would be best left in your care, Ikora. There is considerable power in this artifact, and I would feel better if it were in your capable hands.”

Ikora considered him, and accepted the offering after some deliberation.

“I doubt there’s anything I can glean from this myself, but perhaps I will ask for your assistance in studying it’s uses one day.”

He smiled, though the thought turned his stomach somewhat. Even after all it had done for them, there was still something about Reef magic that did not sit right with the Titan. Perhaps it was just the Guardian in him.

Amanda nudged Ikora, startling her to attention as she entrusted the stone to her Ghost. She fixed her fellow Vanguard members with her sharp-eyed gaze.

“Ms. Holliday and I wanted to let you know that the two of you have our official blessing,” Ikora intoned, the sarcasm so well-hidden in her voice that only the slight quirk of her lips gave her away.

“Too right,” Amanda razzed, punching Cayde on the arm. “Congratulations, lovebirds.”

Zavala cleared his throat as loudly as possible, but naturally, Cayde was all to happy to encourage them.

“Thank you, thank you. We’ll be sending out the marriage announcements soon.”

Before Zavala’s skin could reach the full brightness of the noontime sun, Ikora’s Ghost chimed in with a message.

The Consensus demanded a meeting.

“Oh, sorry, I can’t make it, guys. I’ve got a, uh,” Cayde mocked a cough, “terrible cold?”

Ikora hooked an arm around one of Cayde’s.

“You know, we’re only having this emergency meeting because of you,” she informed him, tightening her grip to emphasize her point.

Zavala stepped up to loop arms with Cayde on the side opposite Ikora.

“The second emergency meeting in as many days,” he added. “Both because of you.”

“Hey, it’s not like I could help it. Don’t everybody put themselves out on my account.”

As the Vanguard marched out of the room, dragging one of their number between them to make their case before the rest of the Consensus, Amanda laughed, bidding them the best of luck.

Zavala knew his relationship with Cayde would not remain a secret for long—possibly not even a full twenty-four hours—but he was surprised by how little the thought bothered him. Although the task was daunting, he was certain they would find a way to balance their new bond with their duties to the Vanguard, together.

Guardians were born to defy challenges, after all.

 

つづく

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've only got Cayde's epilogue left now, folks, and then this story is finished! I might end up building a series around this fic, as I do have a prequel and a sequel in mind at the moment. 
> 
> Remember to tweet me [@leaux_wren](https://twitter.com/leaux_wren) if you also love death and dying.


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